Skipped Breaths

He whispers with authority into my ears, 

mixed with his sharp breaths, 

mixed with my half breaths, 

smothered by his blunt shoulder.

I bite into his flesh and push my arms on his chest,

his chest that is so perfectly symmetric 

balanced on my slimy collarbones, 

I lose my doubts as his chest smashes into my head in blissful suffocation.

Our muscles are intertwined, 

deliberately fighting, 

bulked from the resistance.

His arms push down full force, 

makes me skip every other breath, 

taken over by this visceral pleasure.

Stored away from everything for just these moments, 

moments that only exist because he chose it to happen, 

chose to make this exist between our two bodies,

a choice that lets me breathe my deepest breaths without air

and wets my being into oblivion.

I am lost, or am I found? 

Under the skipped breaths, 

weight crushed, 

skin dipped in sweat stuck like two melting ice cubes 

becoming a puddle of uneven breaths and bodily fluids,

I am both lost, and I am found.