Suddenly the feeling overwhelms me,

Like hot lead racing through my thighs, but cooling so quickly, they are weighed down with 24 years of trepidation. 

As I look around the room, I prepare myself to see the ghosts of my past, hovering just slightly above me,

My arms bend under invisible weights, curling in pursuit of The Form of Attainment. 

I use it before it uses me. 

And suddenly such a lust comes, where there was Nothing. 

I do not touch myself, for I feel as though I already am,

as if the most excruciatingly slow orgasm is breaking (over) me. 

When I reach my delicious climax, I cannot help be see the illuminated arrow above my head pointing toward my window. 

“Go, my love,” it whispers. 

“Fly.” 

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