Sex is like...

There are no words to describe the fix sex is. Can be.

I have tried so many different ways to describe the feeling:

Sex is like vanilla (no, get over it) really pungent vanilla, popped straight off the orchid and pressed between your fingers til it permeates the air, thick and rich.
Sex is the way you would expect strawberries to feel if they grew as part of you, tingling under the hoods of your skin.
Sex is like jasmine spilled all over your hair and neck and clothes.
Sex smells like cliches, like leather and musk, but tastes like flowers or the sea in your senses, harsh and salt and clean.
Sex is the smell of hyacinths full open or denim that needs washing, or the smell of a woman who hasn't taken her make up off in two days or the hit of music that keeps repeating in your head and won't let you go, a musician pummelling a drum some place like a cave under the earth.
Sex makes you bloom in the warm and shudder in the cold, wilder than storms, closer than tv.
Sex is like a lot of things, but only ever really feels like sex.
Sex is so...

I love things that are so.

Goodnight.

Dreams, dreams, dreams...

So vivid and so weird, they're like being awake, hallucinations almost. They don't worry me as such, but they seem so intense! So I record them here, as I have done since I started this journal, but put them behind the cut cos I don't see them interesting anyone except me.

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