Just threads between

Throw me down, we have the time, and taste for flushed and salty skin that simmers as we crawl and climb upon, beneath, between, within, and rolls the black and blue of eyes that match the bruises on her thighs, reminding me to treat her gentle, hold her down and drive her mental, clasp and press and wrap and writhe and nestle as the gasp subsides, till all that separates our skin are threads that dance on pulsing sin.