We build a foundation on lust. On the desires of the flesh. We think that if we moan and groan in the right way or whisper the right words and wear the right lingerie; that it would work. Perhaps if we are familiar with tantric positions like the back of our hand or be able to give blow jobs for two hours without ever coming up for air; surely the ability to be called names and bent in every feasible way is something priced and valued. We hold up this foundation with a tangle of limbs and shared bodily fluids. We built a foundation on lust held together by semen.

But like every haphazardly-started flame, it burns brightly before it fizzles and dies. When the passion is gone, all that is left would be the mindless thrusting and the want to just finish. But when all that is left are charred remains of what you thought was love – you’d realise that semen isn’t that good of an adhesive after all.

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