I need you to be real, like the raw scent of earth after rain, an untamed wilderness beneath my fingertips.

Let's wander through uncharted realms, where desire prowls, primal and unbridled, leaving footprints in the untouched snow.

In the secret groves of our connection, bodies echo the language of ancient trees, a dance of instincts beneath the moon's scrutiny.

Wanting, a hunger that bites and claws, a magnetic force, like the pull of untamed rivers, carving canyons through unexplored landscapes.

Bleeding, not wounds, but the essence of passion, the slow drip of life like crimson paint, brushing strokes on the canvas of shared vulnerability.

Hurting, a feral pleasure, a primal ache, the sting of longing, sharp as the cry of a predator, echoing through the untouched valleys of our beings.

Our touch, written in scars, a conversation etched on the skin's canvas, where every caress is a testament to survival.

In this symphony of sensations, let's be the hunters of our own primal symphony, where the climax is a scream, a sophisticated expression of pleasure.

Lucija Lotus Mlinarič