Sometimes, all these is is this, the feel of it, the touch,
the kiss, the deep embrace, the need to feel it deep, to reach places like
easily access in any other way, to stretch it, to expand the boundaries of it
all, to do it all that is at all possible in order to have it all at least
once, though more often than not, the pounding of it as much thrill as to what
comes next, to watch her lips awash with it, her tongue licking the remains,
and the kiss that comes even in the aftermath, tender, salty, sweet, the glow after
the graveling, after the in and out, again and again, the moans and groans, the
banging oof the bed board on the motel walls, telling sleeping neighbors how
far things have progressed, when sometimes, this is all there is.
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