Daydreaming (ShowerThoughts)

The world exists in two places, two phases. They coexist separately, each having a purpose and a necessity, each having its reason and reality. Time operates differently in these places, one moving in with the languid pace that sometimes quickens in response to hungers… the other moving normally, operating and functioning as necessary.

There is the world within… and the world without.

Inside, time is slow. Each second lingers, stretches out with a feline grace before eventually relinquishing itself to the next but not without some regret. Each moment exists within an eternity, living for itself, for the one that came before and the one that comes after, each moment aware of what it is losing as it moves on with a sigh.

Words are spoken softly, ideas conveyed through soft sounds and touches. Sensation is communication, hunger sustained and satiated through contact. Need is not a thing that is spoken of, merely acted upon.

The world within exists for the moment, each moment, the now, the caress and glide of flesh, the questing touches, revealing words. A universe of communication carried between instants, spoken and known without effort, without worry of misunderstanding.

The clock is stopped at 3am, or perhaps the moment has lingered far beyond its allotment. Time is a solid, a tangible presence too jealous of its focus –or lack of being focused upon- to move willingly. Realities coalesce, fuse together, separate and return again, never questioning…

Figures, one and another, dancing to a beat older than envious time… a sensuality that lives within the pool of perspiration at the hollow of her throat, the rasp and rumble of his breathing. He stands, straight and strong and confident, the master of all things, the king of worlds, the servant of her whim. She lies, bound by hand and foot, a creature to comfort his needs, but the true mistress of the moment.

Communication, hunger, passion… these things rule the world within the walls, dominating and subjugating faint and fickle reality. Each touch, each sigh and moan, is a promise of the next. Flesh moving, sliding, hands and lips exploring, fuelled by hunger, patient desire teasing, seek the breaking point.

What began with a giggle ends with a strained and straining plea for mercy, as un-pious and unapologetic she cries out “Please… please…” and he obeys.

The world without, outside, it doesn’t exist. It does exist, but it is irrelevant. Others move in the outside world, others exist and breathe and live and love, but don’t matter. The world without is a succession as darkness become greyness and then varying shades of light before fading into the blueviolet bruise that scales down into darkness again before the cycle renews.

To those without, everything is of essence, importance. Time cannot be ignored, schedules must be met, needs must be considered and fulfilled. Passion is a dream, a series of moments stolen when luck favors the fortunate.

To those within, nothing exists but the moment, the touch, the taste. To those within, only they exist, only contact is real, only hunger matters. Only now, only you, only me… Moments stolen away from reality, the rest is forgotten.