Every time you speak to me, somber, angry, tense or carnal, you press yourself deeper into my dusky center. I replay the sound of your voice in my mind, see your face, consumed with passionate aggression, then replaced by calm, for a long moment after the compulsion to deliver yourself from continual longing, has been spent inside my arms, my hot musky interior... body and mind, interlaced.
I remember the first time over and over. How you came up to me in stealth (though I knew and expected) covered my mouth, stifling my gasp, grasping me from behind, firm, and abrupt, pressing your fingers tightly around my neck, biting into my shoulder, making me cry... for more. Then later, so slowly, unhurried, thoroughly, until there was no part of one another we did not know, as our own.
And it is not just the remembrance of those moments, but the thought of sitting near you, just being close and talking, about anything... everything. And later still, the coffee and wine. I loved that dark quaint bar where we had dinner, with you, sipping Chianti and me drinking you in. I took your hand under the table and slid it slowly up along my thighs, while my other hand found its way to the warm, taut place between yours. My face remained calm, only the flush of my face gave me away, and then I was only giving back to you, what you asked for, with your eyes, caressing me toward the inevitable reaction. We left before dessert, only because our tastes were for nothing on the menu.
On the walk home through the park, we lingered, not wanting to rush to a moment, that would lead us closer to our inevitable parting. The midnight sky parted with wet kisses, and you knew instinctively, how I adored the rain, the woods, the sound of water lapping trees. You took my hands, knelt before me and repeated nature's seduction.
I wonder where are you right now, are you thinking of me, pondering wishes and impossibilities, weighing the need for me against the improbabilities of our situation? And I, being selfish, wanton or impetuous, all of it and more, simultaneous, can only think of being with you, talking, sharing, loving, debating, caressing, playing, kissing... I think I want to kiss you again more than anything. Those were the moments that spoke so much. The way our lips meet, touched and entangled. The way our tongues unfolded, darting, tasting, entwining, and how deeply we wished to devour one another. I want, no. I need more, than the memory of our mutual surrender, and subsequent terms of release... will you come, again?
