Read introduction

Have we finished having intercourse?

I Wanna Fuck You In A Meadow

Picby Marc Lionhart17 Feb 2014

Bored of the blind, feeling faces for blame
Most days are numbered you see. This is what equality truly feels like, not like it is in the films
Having a love affair with my dreams
I have a burning itch, to see your naked body backstage at Wembley, to caress your ink with my tongue
To feel your curves, to fuck you against that cold floor
Musical notes up your side, can I be a little artistic with you?
I run my fingertips over tattoos lain across your pale skin, pale as the rift in logic
Fuck it for a laugh
Fuck with all your might, like you're conquering it
She surrendered herself to me on that damn floor, we didn't make love but we surely loved it
Plentiful sensations, a true cognitive rollercoaster, a mental engagement
I could hear a support band playing as our hips ground philosophy to the ceiling
Tanked up bohemian hipsters walking the corridors, image rife and guitars hanging from their beige strapped backs
Not a fucking hope in their pocket
But we, continue our adventure, we talk as normal while we rut hard slamming physical madness at each other
Poignancy is a preliminary nature, we fuck until show
Fuck until the dawn
Pray against each other, kiss, pray some more, lay with each other, dare to blink in unison
Hands all over the place like ripples, adoring the chasms of your person and the narrative of your skin. The darkness it suggests
I see it, the places we will be in years to come, and I hate it
Fuck the future and fuck me instead, let's ignore what's ahead and fuck
Fuck hard into the night, fuck soft until we bleed out, fill that backstage dressing room with our mist
The proto-progressive plebs fight amongst themselves, and we rain, casting sequin patterns on our canvas floor
The lights flicker above us, as we sonicboom a deafening climax and glitch reality, bearing down on us the sickening rendition of british culture
I'm lucky enough to escape it having you to be lost within, grey double fire doors rusting clean off, allowing morbid curiosity in
Proletariat musician martyrs playing god on stage a mere few feet away from us as we lay quivering, beads of sweat falling from us like condensation from the pipes carrying steam
We're not finished fucking, not by a fucking long shot
I've told you where I want to take you, where I want to exact our bodily connection and how I want to achieve ultimate euphoric utopia
Don't wanna go back to our homes, wanna throw you down and paint the walls with writing, raw and voracious for memory
In the meadow, in the fields and the farms among the creatures we created
I wanna take you from my dreams and place you in the meadow, fuck you in the meadow until we are plainly and purity, simply and utterly fucked.