Conversations Between Fireflies (1)

The writing. I've been all a titter with it.
I don't think I used that right...

It's titillating that you're all a titter.

It's scintillating that you're titillated that I'm a titter.

The implication of my scintillation is that your titillation is making me a titter, as well.

Well, you've aroused my attention!
So it was your intention to arouse my attention? Or perhaps my affections? I reckon they beckoned the second I seconded.

My intention was to arouse both attention and affection,

beckoned by your scintillation of my titillation of your titter. 

The second you beckoned I reckon my retention of your affection was inevitable.

As inevitable as it was unenviable, my dear.

For my attentions and affections, once aroused, are ineffable and inexorable.

An affliction of contradictions whose retention eludes prevention and exudes expression.

Once aroused, this affliction of affection eludes prevention?

Then my gratitude is a platitude in comparison to the ineffable

affection in your attention. Retention is my sole intention now, for though these

contradictions in connection are inexorable, explanation of your affection

pales in comparison to the digestion of your words.

I used 'prevention' in my pretention, though I should mention my affliction for affection

can become addiction. A diction, not of fiction rather of fixation of perversions

or pervasions most persuasive. I, like my words, become indelible but not inedible.

Ingest or digest at your leisure, divest me of my predilections and bestow on me

your benedictions and I will be bereft of symptoms. 

I shall bestow benedictions to divest of you of such predilections,

though my pleasure at the plight of your symptoms divests us of a quick solution.

Rather to leisurely digest the dictation of your fixations to the satisfaction of both

is a path much more intoxicating. 

Though warnings of hedonistic addictions are heeded,

being bereft of symptoms seems an impossible, 

unenviable solution to such inevitable infatuation.

The rapidity of our solution should not impede its constitution, nor its validity.

Although alacrity shall lack to be, feasibly it pleases me reconvene as often as necessary.

Perhaps practice is the practical solution, a congressional collusion

that precludes it's inevitable, inexorable conclusion.

Intoxicating?

Oh, that you should play the sadist is to say this game has turned from tame

to something much more fun to play!

I thought at first to imbibe you, to intoxicate myself in mellifluous scents

and nascent ebullience, but if the tables turn and I'm to yearn

then I will bow to your beneficence (or maleficence, it being your whim.)

...Perhaps maleficence, or maybe beneficence. My whim changes as swiftly as wind.

Intoxicate yourself on my words, my skin. The constitution of this congression 

(Possible transgression?) has gone from tame to tangled.  

Transgression or, equally apt, expression of aggressive affection.

A regression, reflexively reflected. A deep, deplorable and adorable need.

There is no sin in sensation, but more fun in predation.

Assail me and my sails will turn whichever way your windy whims blow.