We could make love right now, right here. Right here and now in this little den of mine wherever nobody ever comes and only I am the one leaving. We could make love right here and now, only if your were here and I weren’t alone under the stars, staring right up, waiting for the sky to tear up like a whore and all the rotten cum to spurt out and run down and out of my sight and out of this world. We could make love right now in my chair but you aren’t here. You are buried under files, or you are losing your shit somewhere or battling another headache on your own. I wish I were there but I am here, wishing you here instead. I look around. Not a man. Not a dog. It’s so quiet. Utterly quiet. We could make love right here and now and break this quietness.
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Tomic Riter 