I always Preamble in the Gut.
This time I crack my Neck and Knuckles and get a good Gutter going.
If you came here, if you came here, if you came here, entered, yeah, I see exactly where we’d kiss, how I’d push you to your Knees on the hard Flooring, like you like, how you’d drag my Trousers, twisting them over my Hips and against the orange Wall, how we’d smell each other, but mostly we’d smell Firewood.
If you came here, Cloudless, I’d love you to the Gut and Gutter.
I’d pull your Lips away from you, and you’d shush and say that—shush—it’s nothing but pulsing. “I’m not even moving, and you can feel me, Butterfly.”
If you came here, Cloudless, I’d skin your Knees, even if you didn’t like it.