right astride the memory of
I remember how good your back felt when I scratched it, shirt over bareback with your large hands clamped on my thighs. Your poetry amuses me but so does your lust for life, that stoic portion you lord over as you keep your mask on at all times, a soldier after your own brand of twisted fortune.
I wait for mine, but you make your own destiny.
Fate always claims me. You always swim after it.
I asked you once if you would eat me to feed yourself if we were stuck and hungry on a deserted island. By your refusal, I got that it would be desacration and too much horror for your soul's pride as you would rather choke on nothing with your anger in my stead. I love you so.