Written by: Conor Jordan

The Ceiling was a Dull pastime,
But the Images I Created of
You on it, were not.

The shivers that run down My Back,
And all the way down my legs, When
I start to Believe The Images.

The Thought of you Occupying My
Sleep Space Wearing Nothing But
Flesh, Pumped My Blood... Harder

The Ease of The Sliding, Warm and
Moist. Your Eyes Always Seem to
Close as if to Accentuate the Emotion.

           - One Repetitive Movement Shouldn't -
                    - Be the Meaning of Life -

But it is...