His phone was like a fire alarm every time she called. Get out the house, leave everything behind. Material things turn into memories but your life will turn into a tragic ending if you don't get out in time. I wish I could have. I wish I could have ran out without my clothes, without my phone and whatever else I could have bought back easily but it wasn't that simple. I had no intention of going anywhere. I was going to stay, naked as the smoke hovered over me, and with each breath getting harder and harder to breathe. I was going to stay. It's hard to say why, not because I can't express it but because it feels insane. I'll try anyway.
We have the type of sex that epic novels are made of, the type of sex that causes war on stretches of land between two territories that shouldn't even realize the other exists. And it's the chemistry, the way his breath borrows mine to create a soft hum of ecstasy. We are biologically made for one another. The taste of his skin would never starve me. My teeth sink into him like a lion's jaw into the soft flesh of a terrified zebra. I mean, we are animals and I notice it even with my eyes closed. The wetness of it all pouring down on us like rain in the islands, there's an earthquake coming from my pelvis and it feels good. It feels really good to shake and tremble on the epicenter of his entire being – I live for moments like that so much so that I'm willing to die for them. In those moments, I'm pretty sure I pray for pregnancy because I feel guilty if the only purpose of it is to feel good. We can at least make another human being to replace us, as we are surely destroying ourselves with each stroke. We will become like ancient ruins of Egypt if we keep it up. Once majestic and filled of purpose – soon just a sight to see, a reminder that something beautiful happened here. I'm trembling even now at the thought of his grip on my shoulder blades and my grip surrounding his manhood in the pouring desires of my soul. I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. While everyone else is worried about the house burning down and while everybody's ears are ringing with the alarm, they don't know what we know. They don't feel what we feel. We are the fire. We are necessary and dangerous at the same time. We burn. We suffocate one another in the mahogany of our flesh. We claw in adoration of one another, a long streak of fingerprints indented in our skin. If only we were that adamant about escaping. I want to say that I love him, but love doesn't seem strong enough. I want to tell you that I dream him, but dreams don't seem real enough. I want to tell you that I need him, but necessity is not the same as addiction. I breathe him, even if he's all smoke. I touch him, even if he's all flame and I burn from the inside out because the alarm is not scary enough. It's not loud enough. It's not frightening enough for me to climb off of him. I would rather die never having told this story than to live and not have a story at all.
I tripped over her shoes when I was walking in and my only consolation was that I would not trip over them upon my exit. I knew this because I was sure, I would never leave. Ring the alarm, we're staying.
