intime.

suddenly everything is disclosed and inconsequential.
each moves closer in the dark, writhing in adolescence. a touch's just within a grasp. flighty little touches, adolescent, these are as good as her consent.













when it's over and virtue spilt.
those budded rosy lips
shall likely wilt.













http://blog.wearemjr.com/archives/143

next thing, we're touching.