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[PREMIERE] Story Of The Running Wolf- Electric (FREE DOWNLOAD)
PHOTO CREDIT// JO METSON SCOTT (WITH EDITS)
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He takes off his shirt. Fuck. He is the body electric. Sparks fly off his stomach hair, watch them shoot about with anxious eyes. He makes his way onto the sheets, I make maddening small talk on the window sill–knees up against my chest. I’m afraid the bed’s going to light on fire. Not for a Gaga-esque Bad Romance post-coital moment because ‘damn that was good, and he thought so much too he melted into ashy bones on my sheets’ reason. I wish. No, I’m a hurricane. Keep all that madness tucked under my spleen. Don’t move my lungs, don’t say much. Things keep in place. But he makes me laugh and my diaphragm wobbles like a sine wave. The electricity of his smell singes the air and I fucking want to breathe it in. But then things come loose. I come loose, real. Really. And that shit ain’t pretty.
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If we sexed like stoic statues, I’d still need a hazmat suit. Can’t touch him if my pores have TNT buried in them. My lack of connection with humanity the trigger. His skin cells sloughing off have some blame. Make my inorganic heart lose its shit. All that life. This room has: Minds meeting like mist moseying through the midnight of my bedroom. His soft underbelly chest and heart not cuddling, clashing with my steel rib cage. Mouths missing each other more often than not, because I must muster myself back up out of me. It’s all explosive intimacy; but no one’s holding onto each other, nuzzling necks. Impossible when every touch rips arms out shoulder girdles, shatters hips. It’s electric, but I think he’s a lightning storm when sobriety will tell me he’s barely a static shock from socks. I’m weak.
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PHOTO CREDIT// CARMELO BLAZQUEZ JIMENEZ
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Could put my head on his neck. Fuck hugs. When I was a kid, hiding under my mom’s jaw used to make all my storms move along to Mississippi or some other godawful place I don’t care about so long as those clouds weren’t making ‘you’re fucked up’ thunder in my ears. I love the neck. Had turbulence, earthquakes, mini-wars–didn’t matter. Mine held me up, facing straight into the oncoming traffic of the world.
One foot in front of the other. Keep your chin up.
Even when you want to die.
Or think you’re a man-monster.
“Thank you, neck.”
My neck keeps me looking him in the eye. Thinks he sees me, even when I’m nowhere to be found. Let’s give this trick a try. Nestle my nose next to his carotid, my mouth jokes with his jugular. No boom, just the beginning of some boom boom. Finally. Intimacy didn’t make me explode. My chin didn’t combust and cut up his cute smile. Made myself melt a bit. Only because the truth of that moment shone so bright.
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TRUTH: I’m all warrior heart that’s really ghost heart swirling like fog around some real heart sitting somewhere in there. Don’t ask me where. I don’t know yet. I was super sure it died, so don’t expect much from me. So much yes, though: I didn’t dissipate into dust. No matter how grim life got. Fucking exhausting keeping all the veins, bones and tendons that make me from tearing asunder.
My head, his neck. Feels fantastic. Electrifying, no immolation boiling our stomachs into soup. Sweet. My face has somewhere to belong. To scream and have his epidermis laced with cologne, be the sound barrier. His skin soaks in sadness, sweat, some skin cells from my lips that.dropped from my smile. Surprised: his neck is as strong as mine. Thought my cervical bones were made of some special platinum. His won’t break or bend under the weight of me, either. Notice his is tender as fuck though. Mine’s just some sidewalk concrete poured into the shape of human. My hair rustling on him shocks his spine. Sends sexy thoughts out his eyes, blood flowing to some stellar places.
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