…keep on ticking

The ink wasn’t just bleeding onto the page—it was birthing something alive. Each splatter spread like a slow-motion explosion in reverse, tendrils curling into the paper’s fibers as if trying to root itself there. My fingers twitched, not from hesitation now, but from the electric hum of watching words coalesce where none had been seconds before. Shadows from the desk lamp stretched the ink’s reach into something greater, turning commas into nooses and periods into craters. The nib of the pen hovered, trembling, over the page.

If you could only hear the whispers…a moot point, writing the dark side of erotica, tearing down the velvet facade of taboo. In shades of gray and obsidian. Locked in the closet of the forbidden mind of deranged silence. Dipping my toesies into the ink, some call porn. Building my own catharsis, a sanctuary to archive my flaws addicted to the climate of my, suppose. Beyond the conventional, dripping the quill on the thesaurus of your shadow…as I doodled, “Jimmy crack corn and I don’t care.” A rebellion against the crisp margins of polite society, in my utopian, Camelot.

The nib hesitated, not from fear, but from the delicious weight of anticipation. If this was taboo, then bless my soul, because the page wasn’t just absorbing ink anymore; it was breathing . A wet, shuddering inhale as the next droplet fell, spreading into the shape of a mouth, lips parted around a word I hadn’t written yet. My own breath hitched. Polite society would’ve clutched its pearls, but polite society wasn’t here, was it? Just me, the desk lamp’s yolk-yellow glow, and this thing I’d conjured from the dark side of desire. “Then Mother, may I?” taking three steps across the room.

The mouth on the page exhaled, soundless whisper that made my skin prickle. Ink-dark saliva pooled at the corner of those drawn lips, smudging the word yes into something illegible and hungry. I pressed the nib down again, not to write, but to prod, and the paper yielded like skin under a lover’s teeth. A low, resonant hum vibrated through the desk, rattling the half-empty snifter of cognac beside me. The liquid inside shivered, reflecting the lamplight in fractured gold, as I entered her covenant soul. “But! it’s only make believe, Romance.” Creeping through the portal of forbidden verses. Yet, I keep on ticking like a Timex watch.