My body, my mind, they will not settle. And neither will the words.

They assault me, rush through me, as if they also know the frustration of this unfulfilled yearning, hitting hard the screen and the page, my fingers frantically typing, clutching like a lifeline the coolness of the stylus, the words screaming, outpacing, flitting through the fragments, details found then lost and overcome, darting from one page to another, too restless and desirous and uneasy to stay for a moment longer, to complete and realise the utterance forever twisting into knots my stomach, pulsing and glistening between my thighs, lingering on my lips and the tip of my tongue.

In the silence, in their wake, I look upon their trace, and all I see, all I feel is you.

You and your smile and the warmth of your hand and the sound of your laughter and the resonance of your voice and the minute round midnight your breath caught in your throat and your black gaze grew darker as I confessed on my knees the primal need for your blistering seed on every inch of my skin and deep inside my cunt and my womb, the intimacy my body craves through the day and its night, this fusion of man and woman, of you and me, this mark of your ownership, my possession of your hard aching sex, your name etched in my secret flesh with the force of your desire, with the roar of your body, with the very tremble of your soul.