…linger. Last night I slept with the feel of you under my hands: Tired, tense, then the surge and a different tension. But after that what lingers is mine: my pleasure, my wildness. And your fierceness. Desire is the sauce without which the dish is merely food. My archangel, this desire runs deep. Let us hope this new revelation does not change the rules again.
I am on a strange cusp: I remember the old and I taste the new.
One thing I wish to remember is the sense I felt from Li, from time to time, of obligation, in our bed. If ever I sense it again I will force whoever produces it out and perhaps slit their throat in the moment, for it is a herald of betrayal to come. Either this or press a conversation. Not to merely wait to see. Perhaps the lack of desire for me is what keeps Li at bay. It is a new and painful thought.