February 2012
6 posts
I know of a perfect resting place for your lips. Over my nipples.
There’s this neat trick you’ve learned recently. And I fucking hate you for it. When being intimate and the feeling gets overwhelming, it’s normal to reach out for something other than your partner. Something to grip or bite; because this act helps you control the welling heat inside your skin. But lately you’ve realized these small gestures in bed. And I don’t know if you’re aware you do it, but...
Perhaps my pores will close up in the hopes of keeping a part of you with me always. I can’t believe you have to go for a while. I’m certain my body will long for you and that my fingers will never be enough. I need you. Especially on the rainy and snowy nights. These trains that run by the apartment will remind me of our drowned unified moans and the pounding headboard. And my heart will ache...
“A threesome?” you ask “Yeah, a threesome.” “No.” And you look me dead in the eye. I part my lips wondering if “why?” is a good idea. “Because as long as you’re with me, I’m not sharing you. It’s just you and me, always.” You’re so sexy and you don’t even try.
I want to leave private signatures on your skin. Bruises on the back of your knees from my nails and teeth marks on your collar bones.
You’re on a runway somewhere in New York right now and it’s tragic. My phone is useless. I can’t hear your voice or see you. I can’t look into your eyes and feel our comfort and our history. I can’t handle this emptiness next to me. These sheets smell like you and I’m dreading the thought of doing laundry today. Perhaps I’ll do it tomorrow or the day after that. I can’t sleep without the smell of...