Apricity Press Issue 2 March 2017 - Page 42


Tonight, our fucking is slow. I’m on top for most of it. My hair forms a curtain around his face. His empath’s hands are guided by the obscurity of my desire, grazing my back and nipples, brushing against my torso, the o of his mouth and incisors taking one nipple in and out, then the other as I slowly angle my cunt to swallow his cock and pause. This pause is drives me wild. I can feel his fullness expand both physically and energetically inside me even as he sleeps. Even as he is elsewhere. Slow vibrational waves seep into my vaginal walls and radiate out to my clit,

spilling outward onto the sheets: hot pink. A few years ago, when I was between Brooklyn and Oakland, Brenda wrote me, “All phenomena, all time”. Now I understand that more than I wish to. The bed buzzes with the sluff of our amalgamated then singular energy. When he pauses I don’t cum, I crescendo. Our hot pink increases in volume but then deafens in pitch to a terrible base note, the vocal fry of a dying animal. Is this a voice? Is this my voice? Tonight, this is where we stay, somewhere between animal and deity with little to no movement, Frank Ocean

playing in the antechambers. I take him in as deep and fully as possible, feeling the kundalini radiate from where his cock was held snug between my labial lips. The heat of electric pink radiates in loose waves from where his cock is still held inside me, emanating out the center of me

like a gloriole as it’s illumination alchemizes with my skin, trickling down through my parted labia, down his balls, and onto his asshole, hot pink.