There is some sort of insistence; a sensory overload on the word rush.

Urgent, fleeting, definite, confined.

He is there in moments and not one too soon.  Daily residing in unmarked cars as a result of memory.  Anchoring these reminders as the way his thighs were always so firm.
Exactly when does the voice soften to become more than words?  Breathy and visible, they are highlighted by each angle in our motives.  We should all be so lucky to line in aluminum foil and heat insulate as a measure to incite self gratification.  It is skin on skin temporarily until the fire recedes as much as our intelligence--
          Which is limited?  Far more feral are the estranged clouding society of immorality.  Honestly, I belong to everyone as a surrogate mind to intentionally cause riotous behavior.

--We drink.
--We smoke.
--We light and lie.                               And who is the giver?

                               Exceptional concubinery; we fuck each other's hearts regularly in the morning rush to find semi comatose procedures enlightening.  To fill a void and be void.  Stepping lightly on the concrete structures we 'adamize' and treat like ropes and whips on general phallus. 
                          
                               this is the anger.
He is there, godly
dispensing into latex formality

urgent, undefined                     shaping the rush to succumb

                                            to willing arms and legs.