I don’t want to make my bed.
I don’t want to mess up the memories of my late night and my early morning with…
I want the rumpled up bed to remain like this, the print of his head on my pillow, the duvet tossed carelessly aside to enable him to move…
On top of me.
When his lips captured mine, all the questions didn’t matter. My why’s and when’s and how come’s were answered as soon as his tongue touched mine.
His voice, his face, his eyes, his smile.
And then he looked down at me as he entered me, his eyes watching mine, his mouth reaching and I could sense the struggle between kissing me and watching me and kissing won because kissing me was what he was meant to do.
His strokes were in tempo with my heart, his moans in sync with my breath, and I laid still, capturing the moment in my memory so I could think about it now, write about it now, remember the details now.
He spoke my words, my thoughts, my feelings..
Do you know how good you feel?
I want to stay inside you like this forever.
And I smiled because I know.
I knew then that I wanted him inside forever.
But then the waves started to threaten and I could feel him, and he moved, ever so rhythmically, pounding yet caressing, pushing yet touching, fucking yet…
So loving and maddening and frustrating and…
Perfectly in tune with what my body was telling him, listening to how my body moved, yet, still I laid, capturing, remembering, thinking…
Memorizing his body and his strokes and his touch and his skin, my God his skin, and his mouth that made me tremble and go weak and limp under his command and still, I laid, motionless…
And I lay here now, remembering, thinking, memories of his body on this bed, his body on mine, his fingers on my skin, his tongue probing, finding…
I remember your taste.
And I can’t wait to have him again.