Like a pull, a rush,
A gondola that traverses
The cheek, salty sweet,
Clinging to the pores and
Lashes, leaving streaks,
Long gashes along the dune
Of face, feeling misplaced,
Feeling cold against
The hot of nose and
Lips, clashes upon the
Thighs and breasts,
Making known all the
Shudders and shivers in
The insides, riding over
Fibers and synapses,
Alienating rationales,
Beseeching, quavering,
Quaking free and bending one
To knee, letting stuffiness
Fill the head, wet,
Chilly, running away,
Desperate to get somewhere else,
In hurry, but
How it is.

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