Sunrise, cumming and discretions

She asked me to see the stars and I had nodded in an absent trance. There was too much noise in my ears and too many lines in my nose. But, she wanted to see the southern skies through my eyes. And Williamsburg mountain wasn't a hop skip and a jump, but she was there. An hour drive to heaven and peace and her wrapped in my arms. An hour drive to show her something in me, something unsettled...yet rooted and wild. And so I lit a joint and slid in shotgun. A far cry from the noisy bar on main street.

She took my joint and I took her hand. Feigning for a cigarette, I fumbled for my dispo, just to take a hit. Needing something. Something more familiar than the sound of her voice, singing quietly along with the silky tones of Lana del Rey.

*We were Born to Die or we were immortal.

Tonight nothing made sense *

The roads were empty. 2 a.m and counting and her hand was on my inner thigh. Resting easy and comfortable. We turned the curve and shifted down. The hum of the engine and the softs sounds of the radio melted together, into some melodic hum...with fireflies and crickets and the sounds of the Appalachian Mountains, swaying in and out of my mind. Torn and broken, addled by drink and drug...

I felt her lips against my neck. Warm, soft and inviting. I pulled away, for a moment.

A tinge of guilt.

And then I pulled her closer, kissed her deeper before I let the walls rebuild...

I stepped outside and she followed, sheepish.

I pointed out the constellations,

As her hands slid beneath my shirt. A sudden give inside of me...and I gave into to the softness of her touch, calloused fingers exploring my skin. I leaned into her and gave in.

Naked flesh finding naked flesh. She was warm and wet and ready.

And the quiet moans, as I slid inside of her, seemed to echo through swaying pines.

We watched the sunrise from the hood of her benze. Lost somewhere in the coming sun and our discretions.