Our evening begins like this: Chat that hops back and forth like a melody, fingers weaving together or sneaking a touch here, here, or there. Whispers, laughs, the usual.
Our evening ends like this: I am leaning forward, knees flirting with the edge of the bed, breasts and forearms rubbing against blankets. You are standing behind me, hands on my hips, or sometimes all the way to my neck, my body plunging forward and then back again.
The start and finish blur together, melting the memories of the in-between. Maybe it had substance, or maybe it was empty space, but you and I are both feeling quite a bit complete.
*
Note: A longer story coming later in the week. :) xo.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
So delightful and seemly, how the first touch becomes the last breathless quiver; the interim lost in each other. Your words are both lovely and intoxicating.
Thank you - I like the poetic flow of your comment. :)
Post a Comment