Echolalia

echolalia:

Psychiatry. The immediate and involuntary repetition of words or phrases just spoken by others, often a symptom of autism or some types of schizophrenia.

Echolalia

I am bored with three dimensions

I'm in love with three dimensions

And if I listen to the seconds

It reminds me of echolalia

I need you.

Darkness. I'm hard for him long before I can even see him in the shadows of the hallway and his ragged breathing echoing off the stone tells me that his blood is flowing with mine and it won't be long. Desperate hands unbutton my shirt and slip inside to stroke and tease and touch until nerve ending sings and I hear the dull clang of his buckle as his trousers slip to the ground.

Lust and loneliness consume me when I spill hot against the cold of the wall and when he brings his hand up to muffle my wordless cries I can taste myself. Whispers dry as desert air against my damp shoulder as he comes and he thinks I can't hear it but my skin has learnt the words like a litany.

I need you.

Sunlight warming my bed, flowing over us like liquid amber and setting us in my memory hard and brittle and bright. His lazy hands exploring, memorising, measuring and estimating like some madly intent cartographer. The thought makes me smile and when I tell him he chuckles low in his throat and I can the vibration deep within me.

Long after his hands have moved on I can feel his fingerprints in the negative, his featherlight touch deep and bruising and aching as if I had been beaten.

Slow rhythm inside me pulses to his thrusts and in this moment we are whole together, a concordance as bittersweet and rare as the soar of a diminished chord over an orchestra in the moment when seperate parts become harmony. We are one melody and he sings it to me in our speech of sweat and flesh.

I need you.

Warm sweet summer with only the stars to witness our bodies twisted together under the surface of the lake, hidden and yet so vulnerable, our secrecy at the mercy of moonlight and providence. We trust the warm wind not to carry far moans and soft sighs that have become our language.

His skin cool in the water burns me like dry ice but he tastes soft and sweet as some alien fruit. At the height of his pleasure he bites hard into the back of my neck, drawing blood that mixes with his silent tears and burns me.

His gentle apology kiss before long becomes hungry and demanding and I can feel him tracing the words on my tongue, against my lips, pushing them against my teeth and down into my bones where they melt and meld with me.

I need you.

Rain pouring down my neck, plastering my hair to my head and my coat to my body until I can feel the weight of it forcing me to the ground.

You watch while I struggle with this sudden burden, your face pale but nonchalant as if everyday you break my will, as if it is nothing new for you melt the ice inside me and watch me flow, bend and stoop under the force of your tears.

The words flow up from my heart like snowmelt and I can feel them dam my throat when I fight to keep them down. Such bitterness I have never known as the smarting aftertaste of it.

I need you.