I want to pitch a tent under the stars at Stonehenge. The stakes losing grip as our bodies erupt into voracious waves. The 5,000-year-old monument’s foundation rocked to its core by our sexual earthquake. If I run left or right for cover I hit your strapping tremor. Riding your harness, I climb to safety, draped in your virtual rapture.
Copyright © 2017 Angela Marie Suor