Everything about you becomes archived. Trying to catalog what isn't meant to be charted, codified, and quantified. But math and science, even between people, often made sense to me.
Chart the exact moment that the bloom of oxytocin flares immutable around the iris. Note the dark points of pupils contrasting. Every flush of skin, pink randomly rippling beneath the pale. Every breath inhaled and exhaled in a subconscious attempt to regulate a sudden rising of the pulse.
Breathe you in. A slight vanilla. Floral mysteries. Pure sex. Love.
You're the air right after lightning strikes. Ion and ozone and the natural primal sweetness of the dampened earth. The raw material of the universe charged and enjoined, unseen animas entwined.
Note the kiss.
So gentle and tentative at first. There's a center to this so magnetic and we cautiously circle it with each kiss. We accelerate. Lips part, chemical cocktails helplessly exchanged. Blood flow increases their warm red rivers contained as mouths grow forceful, more territorial. Limbic systems triggered, soundlessly firing.
The heart drums and flutters its own rapid song when my hand cups the ample flesh housing it, caressing and massaging. The countless nerves beneath, the chambers and veins almost in my grip. It's the closest we can ever get to feeling the whole world in our hands.
Note the heat.
Flesh against flash, nitric oxide heightened, skin blushing more than ever. Almost clumsy at first, yet we find a wordless dance here, elegantly braiding together as hips compete to reach mutual heat.
Note the absence of words now.
Only a joined chorus of relieved sighs as lips below yield and part. The contrast of hard and velvety soft forever raging, temporarily compromising to confess their needs. It's the blood rush, the ancient fever pitch of crashing and pulling and submitting. And it truly is ancient, naked bodies in the dark. If one merely hears the sounds, they encompass the primal. The sound of animals fighting, crying out, shuddering in the ecstasy of devouring, of the hunt. Predator and prey. There is no difference here.
The desire, so natural and simple, is also something that feels beyond our grasp. It's something that's supposed to be governed by neural circuitry, complex pathways seemingly criss-crossed but remaining parallel. Communicating yet never once touching. The flow of chemicals and storms of bioelectricity completely carrying us away.
Chart the control.
When that all converges, muscles tighten and nerves wail in voices that are equal mirrors of pleasure and pain. In thrusting and writhing, we look out of control but our bodies know better. Tensing when necessary, lithe where needed. Even as the body seems to be on the cusp of quaking and rupturing, beneath they remain controlled machines.