Sex. I'm driven by this need. Sometimes I feel like a preditor even though I'm starving I pass up the weak and timid. It is the strong and wild I wish to devour, but I'm not a good enough hunter. A few years ago I fooled myself into thinking the most amazing sex would lead to a perfect relationship. I wrote poetry describing the spritual side of sex. Did I over dramatize it? I think so. I'm wondering if I'll ever have a relationship where love and sex collide. It makes me think because of the relationship I had with my ex-wife that I'm the one to blame. I must place too much importance on the thrill of making love.

Art. The ultimate expression of art when bodies slither into each other. Perfume and cologne scents mix while fingers tantalize bare skin. This is where I'm consumed by desire. I'm lost with the thought of what I want to experience. The touch, sounds and taste of sex drives me to go further than I've ever gone before, but yet I'm wondering if she is at the same place. This musing doesn't last very long because I'm too eager to explore her body. I don't want to be inhibited. Let me do what I want and you'll feel good. Yet there is an apprehension in her body. And while we continue down the same reliable path something in the back of my consciousness wonders what it would have been like if she would have been free.

Imagination is a wonderful thing. It is the only place where perfection is achieved. Life is full of imperfection. Smoothing it down to a workable solution seems all I ever do only to have to resurface. It leads me to believe that I'm not going to find this kind of situation unless I continue to dream it up. I guess it is why I strive to write. At least on paper it can't go too horribly wrong....

cya laterz