It seems that at this very moment I'm mincing your back. Why are all the memories so deep with lust? It seems that at this very moment I'm feeling your randy clunky kissing. Sometimes I'd think you would choke with our love. Or with the lunacy. We both were choking with the immoderate vacuous thirst. Those short inebriate moments of truce, the cuddles of the irrational reality we were in... It leads to nothing. Balefully and ruthlessly. To that nothing brimful with smells, sounds and touch, where one swells till the fingers wrinkle so badly that one's already ripe for another flesh. Soul... for another one. 

(And then you heal)