I am thinking about you, like I do, lately, all the time…
And I just can’t get that picture of you out of my head, the one where you are rubbing my hip bones and kneeling on the end of the bed and you are looking down on me, lids half closed, and there’s this haze across your face that is pure, focused want; and I put it there.
And I like that look– like giving you whatever you need, letting you get there with me, through me.
And I love how you hold back, hold off, hold yourself so we don’t rush– how the time passes but only on the clock that measures measurable things– the rest of the time, it is all ours, stopped mid-touch, stopped mid-breath, stopped to just absorb the heady feel of perfection in the tiny seconds we are in harmony…
Makin’ music with me…
That’s what this is.
I hear it.
I’m dancing- the salsa, the tango. And every step I take with you in my arms feels right.
Honestly, honey, I don’t want to “use you up.” I don’t want this love-on-me to fade.
It feels so right, yet we resist the urge to embrace it fully. What is wrong with touch, with human connection?
#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of Rets tumblr.