limp delicious

tom called early this morning, i was awake, but my voice was a new-born, quivering, wretched. to tell the truth i am centred, if hollow. i suppose it is easier to find a centre in an empty space, the space being that small bit more percievable in the context of its nothingness. so i am centred and hollow; a kind of frigid; a kind of existential funky. i find myself with many more edges. when peeping tom puts a hand on my belly, a nail on my nipple, a tongue in my ear, i feel i am this three-d prism, four-d even, five-d; i have million edges. i can't tell if he's joking when he says 'you're very beautiful'. but for the most part i feel him like an armour.

i am barren, essentially, barren and beat. but i don't care. it's a perfect measure of calm and chaos. i am limp. he is limp. and he is hard. we are limp together. limp delicious.