There's so much to write that emotion could bring to life... Yet luv made sure it doesn't live in my mind... Existing only in a figuratively kinda way it appears. As there's jus no response from inner inner makings on a level of the only thing there is is them getting near. Close enough to connect n bounce off the walls within. N the taste is sweeter from the bottom up. looked down upon n irrelevant to the version of my version of luv. Seems chewing syllables is to reload the ammo shot from the mouth of disregard. N pretending that immaturity of crazy is actually bein hard. Only if the tongue could do what it unleashes behind closed doors. Locked for a reason of pleasure as passion runs it's drip contributing to my core...