My Ganja.

He is my Ganja.

My High.

My Addiction.

I wrap my hands around him; hold him intently.

I put my mouth on him and suck.

He clouds my head with bliss, lust, love, confusion, desire, anger and joy.

I inhale my cravings and yearnings for him. I exhale my satisfaction with fresh want of more.

More of his presence.

More of his energy.

More of his body.

More of his sex.

He is my sweet escape to Neverland, Fantasy Island and Narnia.

He is my toes-digging-into-cool-red-soil-on-a-sultry-summer-day kinda high.

He is my after sex high during sex.

He is my sensual inhalation of surrender to pleasure.

When he's between my lips, he gives me a charge, exciting every part of my body.

And when he's between my "lips", he's breaking me down and stroking deeply, endless orgasms with his potent drug.

He is the scent that lingers on my body…and in my soul.

He is my ganja. One toke of him and my body succumbs.

Long hits of him satiate my compulsion for the moment, causing trembles when those moments are remembered.

My ganja is to be treasured, because drugs like him are hard to find. I savor him, because he hits so well. My ganja is long-lasting and tastes so smooth.

Till my fingertips have burned and the flame has died out, my ganja will be experienced. My ganja will be possessed. My ganja will be adored.

I’m ready for my next hit.