I’ve navigated these hotel halls before, rolling face and swerving into walls, hunting for an ice machine: Shangri-la. Room 223… two twenty three… don’t let me forget. Fuck. At least the carpet’s cool, breathing curling crayola into melted, mixed up colors. Can’t trance out, tho important shit’s going down back in the bedroom. She’s naked by now, oiled up, even. I need ice in my mouth before going down, getting her screaming at the brilliant contrast.
~* I just love the way you wound that around. At least one of us is having some fun lately, hehe, Thanks! *~