Sometimes, I close my eyes and imagine a life where you, my beautiful lover, come home around 6. Dinner is ready or almost and you greet me in the kitchen. I’m happy to see you and you’re happy to see me.
I think I hopped up on my soapbox last night and you might think I’m looking for the perfect robot, not a human. I can say this...
As I've made quite a few new friends on Facebook and other online spaces, the request to see my face often comes up-- not as much as requests for other parts of my body but certainly often enough.
Night one without you, the pain was so raw -- a million short breaths, shallow breathing through a straw.
He only loves me for my lips. I know it, even if He says different. • It’s the way He looks at my mouth when I speak, and the hunger when we kiss that has me convinced. He fell in love with my mouth, but not for the intellect conveyed... no, but for the voluptuous beauty and softness on full display.
Slide my chair in front of yours, a coffee table in between. My legs stretched out gently brush the side of your pants.
Loving again doesn’t surprise me, but loving you, as deeply as I do, has.
Tonight, you weren’t fine, and I felt your pain. Tell me. Don’t tell. I’ll just stay in my lane. We keep hurting each other. Our unintentional flow. The truth cuts so deep, and we go blow for blow.
We sat on the rooftop with the city lights as our backdrop, devouring those sweet chocolate crêpes and sipping on wine from glasses that Moscow brought up from his apartment.
Sometimes, just the mere taste of fine chocolate can bring me close to an orgasm. It can be a transformative experience when I find myself alone with a tasty chocolate dish and a glass of red wine.