Day breaks and with it another season and the light and the heat pierce with a force that has me rising up to meet them, to join with them my own ignited flesh, the skin prickled with the fine sheen that has me gleaming, the body shivering with the intensity that once easily drew you in, the body insistent on its yearning even as the mind vows to thwart and forget, the hands that reach for you in the spaces now vacant beside me, the arms that clutch, that hold, that touch the woman in your absence, your name a whisper on her lips, in the ether a roar.
Even though we have never met, even though my kiss has never lingered upon your mouth, even though my fingers have never caressed your naked flesh, I greet the dawn aching for you, aching to find you, aching to press my body into yours, aching for the softness and the violence born of this passionate need, aching to give myself completely, to indulge you absolutely, to be the woman you long to hold, the woman whose complexities you will eagerly embrace, the light and shade, my push and pull, the urgency, impatience, the imperfections that have driven others away.
But more than this, I ache today for hope’s return, for the faith, for the belief that you are out there, somewhere, waiting for me.
You’ve marked my mind, my body with insanity, this heart, this desire with uncertainty, the night once my comfort now the enemy, the shadows taking on your spectral form to haunt me, your phantom a reminder of revelations urged from deep within, the myopic passion you inspire so easily, the moments I laid bare my simplicity, complexity, this woman adrift in the sensory deep.
I envy her. I envy them all.
All of the women lucky enough to encounter you, to chance upon you on the street, in the underground, out in the world as you pass them by, the ones able to catch the briefest glimpse, the ones who can treat themselves to the lingering gaze, the ones who please your eye and arouse your passions, the ones able to brush against your imposing frame or have you press your body into them in the peak hour rush on the crowded train.
I envy them, I do. All of the women fortunate enough to have you, to know you, to truly know you, to be with you, each and every day, privileged enough to bring you into their lives, to bring you in tight, to bring you in close, into their bodies, into their ache, into the velvet heat craving your thick, hard perfecting flesh. I covet the moments they share with you, the moments and minutes and hours they are able to reach out and touch you, to caress your mouth oh so sensually with their lips, the mouth always longing for one more kiss, to trace its peaks with their soft and slippery tongues, to glide their hands along the finely cut Italian suiting to feel, to register, to memorise the blistering heat, your rapid heartbeat.
And as I sit here on this cold and lonely night, I wonder if they indulge you completely, if they spoil you as I would do, if they selfishly take their own pleasure, if you sate their overwhelming desires and needs, the ones you so easily, so effortlessly inspire in me, if they satiate your hunger with their skin and their cunts and their feminine suppleness, if you satisfy their greed with your hands and your cock and your mouth and your mind and the masculinity that invariably leaves me in a daze.
I want to know you. All of you. Your body, your desires, your mind. Your heart. Your soul. The man.
I want to fuck you and make love to you. I want to indulge you in every way you can imagine, in all the ways my own passion can conceive.
I want to kiss you; I want to kiss your mouth, the strong line of your neck, the deep, smooth hollow of your hip. I want to kiss your cock; I want to worship it, taste you, savour your entire body with my lips and my tongue.
I want to caress your body in the dark, my hands touching, tracing, discovering each muscle and tendon and wiry curl, these fingers skimming, teasing the softness of your skin.
I want to drift off into my dreaming with your nakedness wound into mine, your breath on my neck, the beat of your heart on my back, your cock nestled between my cheeks.
I want to wake in the night and find you there beside me, in the place I always long for you to be. I want to rouse you from your slumber with my breasts pressed into your chest, my sex sliding along your thick, hard heat.
I want to wake with you, watch the sun rise with you, kiss the points where the sunlight meets your golden skin. I want to inhale your scent, committing it all to memory so I can recall you an instant when you’re not here.
I want to talk and dance and walk with you; I want to laugh and sing and eat. I want to listen to your voice, the accented rumble that leaves me weak.
I want to be still with you, hushed and quiet, allowing my body to speak, allowing this body to tell you of the passion that has been taunting me for the past two years.
I want to hold your hand; I want to press myself in close, your fingers travelling their instinctive path, your palms finding their home in every curve of my slight frame.
I want to possess you in the open, for all eyes to see; I want you to take me, fuck me until I cry out your name, until my cunt releases the flood, until you fill me with your searing cream, until this body divides and just as quickly unites, until I can no longer count the time I have spent at the edge, in the rays of your blinding light.
I want to have these walls drip with our sweat; I want them to absorb our heated libations. I want to them to soak up our scent, the sweet musk of our come, the passion consumed and yet forever consuming.
I want to be free, I want to be bound to you; I want to touch you with my warmth and affection. I want to be free; I want us both to be free, unafraid to open ourselves to this feeling.
I want to submerge myself in you; I want to explore with you.
I want it all with you.
It feels as old as time itself tonight; a burden, a weight, an affliction I simply can not escape.
And yet, it is just as alive, enticing, maddening as it was in our beginning, in that first moment my gaze fell upon your flesh, in the instant your deep voice washed over me, your desire whispered hotly into my skin, in the moment of profound and passionate recognition, of eyes locked, hearts thundering, of the breath of life through our kiss.
I would scale these walls to find you, I would blind myself in the light, I would walk in the shadows, through the depths of the dark, I would drive my body through these bricks, this mortar, I would tear down this fortress with my bare, delicate hands if I knew you yearn for my touch, if I knew you long for the kiss of my skin, if I knew you reach out for my lips in the night, if I knew you desire without restraint or reserve, if I knew you were near or afar, if I knew you were ardent and free.
Are you out there? Are you waiting for me? Are you in a different city by a vastly different sea? Are you bathing in the balmy glow of the moon as I warm my skin in the soft rays of the winter sun? Are you greeting a brand new day while I slide this nakedness into my feathery nest? Are you longing for me, for the intensity, the passion, the intimacy a true union can bring? Are you gazing out at this very moment wondering about the woman, the temptress you’re yet to meet?
First, the reflection of light; splashes of lolly pink and cobalt and blinding white, neon on darkened glass, on mirrored artificial spaces locked up and abandoned for the night. Then, footsteps; my own and those of others, the clack of heels on concrete and blacktop, suited men and women, bodies separately together, the weekday crowd heaving, weaving its way to home and solace, places near and afar, the honk of horns impatient and angry, the wind whipping, chilling, the glowing crowns of taxi cabs speeding down the hill, away from the gardens and the park, towards bridges over water, towards the inky black harbour and its maze of side streets and alleys, towards the sandstone structures with their stories of love and lust and heartache to tell.
And through it all, there’s a man on the corner, a metal piece pressed to his lips. And through it all, there’s a man on the corner, his fingers woven around gleaming brass. And through it all, there’s a man on the corner, his blue note slicing the clamour, the commotion, his blue note arresting my feet and my gaze, my attention, winding its way through my body, coursing, surging, etching itself into this shivering flesh, this blue note inspiring the ache, rousing the longing, the yearning, the vision of his hands upon me, his hands tracing these contours and curves, his mouth silencing my whispers, these words, his sensual kiss drowning, killing me softly, his rough kiss bringing me back to this cold, hard life, his body teasing me, mocking me, his hips grinding, taunting me with the flesh most desired, with the cock thick, hard and glistening, with the cock unlike any other within memory, his cock sliding through the slickness of my folds, his head circling, flickering my plump and throbbing clitoris, his cockhead nudging at the portal, at the point of delicious resistance, filling me with the taste that sets me moaning, with the taste that has me begging, with the taste of flesh, with the kiss of skin, with the second, the instant, the moment where he can truly take me, where his eyes can sink into me, where his sexual soul can see clear, can know me, where his hands can possess this softness, where his shaft can plunge to the sodden limit, to the clutching hilt, where he can fuck me with deep, seductive perfection, where his man can be at one with my woman, where our fucking, our love making, our union leaves us alive, addicted and breathless, shattering time and space, renewing the passion that flows without effort between us, the passion that runs through our lifeblood, through our days and our nights and each season that passes, the passion now called by that blue note, by this lone note suspending our desire in the ether.
When our bodies kiss, when they at long last meet, my skin is no longer hers, yours no longer his.
When we come together, when we are lost to the world but found to each other, when our passions are as one, this second skin of sweat and of fire and of glistening libations, this second skin of man and of woman, of limbs entwined, of uncontrolled pulsation, this second skin conceived of the fever, the hunger, our erotic abandon, this second skin born of the night devoured, the flesh for the taking, this second skin hard and fixed, silken and yielding, this second skin delivers the sweetest possession, the cruellest of freedoms.