The energy doesn’t have to come. It’s there. As palatable as the darkness that’s closing in. The energy doesn’t have to come. It’s here. Having sought its way in without needing welcome. Like a blanket set taught and laid tight. Waiting a welcome. To be pulled back. To be pulled open. To be pulled over. The unknown of tomorrow a reflection of the seeker as the slumber sets to an empty background. To be painted by the night.
“Show them what I want to see.” On your knees, face down. You spread your legs and arch your back. Your cunt on display.