A pining in the sacral for fingertips and lips across my own. Wet hunger of the skin; to be touched without regret, without fear. To taste each of my senses fully, my most truest of compasses. I let my body guide me and try to behold without thought interrupting. Where has our godliness gone that we cannot share our fruit with one another without wondering what dark omen comes behind it? I pour my heart into my hands and it has nowhere to go. I pour my mind out of my mouth instead hoping it’ll be heard. I find myself longing for the curation of a space that is warmer. Words / @serpentofvenus 📷 @_softgoth