Your lips, lover.

Where will your lips begin?
With the sunlight softly kissing my thigh?
With the delicate swell sheathed in the sheer midnight lace?

Your hands, lover.

How will they bare their craving to touch?
The creamy skin instantly warmed by your seductive caress?
The lean line of the belly you ache to trace and map and mark as your own?

And your flesh, lover.

What of its burning want and its need?
For the slick, sultry depths silently calling for your hard thick cock?
For the one who craves to be taken with such force the sweat pools in the small of her back?

If you happened upon me by chance, if your gaze found me as it wove through the crowd, as it travelled along the length of the street, as it followed the band of light streaming into the gallery, would you stand riveted, transfixed, would your breath be taken away, would your lips struggle with any utterance other than the whispered syllables of my name, would the tips of your fingers itch to reach out and caress the delicate swell of my breasts, would your body burn and silently scream for just one touch of this fragrant skin, for the woman soft, yielding and fevered, for the nakedness you ache to taste and devour and claim, would you run to me with an irrepressible urgency, would you walk with assurance and measure, would you come to me and bring us in close, would you speak to me simply in gesture, with your arms and their embrace, with the decadent cravings that course day and night through your veins, with the kiss so deep and sensual and voracious you mark indelibly my body and soul, with the need and the promise and the slick aching hunger of your hard burnished flesh, with the stroke and the thrust that will cleave and possess my sodden scarlet sex, would you take me then and there for all to witness, covet and see, would you fuck me until our moans and cries shattered the peace?

If you happened upon me by chance, if the universal forces aligned, if we stumbled and fell into the same time and place, would you also allow me to indulge you as mine?

It isn’t merely the winter that makes me shiver.

It’s the thought of your kiss light upon each inch of my fair skin, your fingers easing away the straps and lace and cashmere, your lips whispering deep the words of adoration and need, your beard grazing the tremble of my soft thighs, your mouth worshiping the sighing ache of my scarlet desire, the carnal pulse of your flesh bringing me to my knees, my tongue devouring with greed, the possession hard and glistening and profound, the gaze all-seeing, all-knowing and yet somehow arcane, the man ideal, the veiled soul, the lover whose subtleties and complexities, whose primal urgencies and lingering sensualities even now feel just like home.

The days. The months. The years.

The lure. The intimacy. The torment.

The glimpse of this beguiling curiosity.

The moments burned deep into your flesh. The echo of that voice. The taste of the words. The mouth aching to savour the softness of that skin. The fire, that kiss. The intensity your body and soul refuse to forget. The racing heartbeat as your caress worships each line, curve and hollow. The glistening sin that flows and screams between your legs not merely from craving but also from need. The whimpers and moans as you fuck and make love and come shivering together until you fear for nothing, until you pray for sweet annihilation. The one who rushes back, who possesses your desire as the velvet darkness sets in, as the innocence of day shines bright.

The man and his inexplicable singularity. The ideal given life.

I curse the dreams that bring you back to me, the reverie so vivid I wake with the taste of you upon my
lips, with the echo of your scent and heat and the trembling sensuality of your kiss, with the lover’s
markings on my vulnerable skin, with the intimate flesh that forever calls for our deep
perfecting fusion, for your hard and thick and gleaming completion.

Am I but a fool to pine for you, to miss your gaze fierce and deep, to be overcome by the need to take between my lips your sweet breath, the tremble of your heat, to feel the scrape of your beard on
this soft, warm flesh, your kiss on the points where the sunlight touches this skin?

Does she touch you?

Does she touch you the way I would do?

Does her lustful desire compel her to close the space between you, to seek you out as you stand in a crowd, to trace with her delicate hand the line of your broad shoulders, the curve of your back as the eyes of surrounding hopefuls are upon you, their gazes devouring, brazenly undressing your imposing, muscular form?

Does she ache to feel you, to feel you against her once you’re alone, to press her body into yours once you’ve shut out the world, once four mere walls are all you require, all she needs to sate the immediate longing to have her fiery breath arousing your golden skin?

Does she reach out when you least expect it, when the burdens of the day threaten to wear you thin, when you silently crave a reminder of her fervour, to caress that soft spot on your neck, to brush her thumb across the peaks of your mouth, to lower her lips and stain your nape with the scarlet of her wanton kiss?

Does she finger your flesh with her voice, with the whispered promise, with her sultry sighs and ecstatic moans, with the words and wants you effortlessly inspire, with the very verse you pen and create, her utterance bringing them to life anew as she opens herself, as she takes them into her hot little mouth, as she slides them between full, eager lips, winding them seductively, expertly around the pink slickness of her tongue, tasting and savouring each syllable, licking languidly each letter, savouring all trace of your need, the trace of your essence?

Does she speak to you with her femininity, her raw sexuality, with each of her senses, with the glistening arc of her body, with her sensual and carnal caresses because words are often deficient, because language isn’t nearly enough, because she craves and craves you with a force beyond order and control and articulation, a phenomenal and primal intensity, a corporeal eroticism that bares your longings, all yearnings, discovers all knowledge in your perfecting and voracious flesh?

Does her body overtake, her passions overwhelm, her pulse race, her blood scream through her veins as she takes you by the hand, sinuously treading the path for you to follow, silently guiding you to the mirrored wall, to the reflection of her scarcely contained hunger, to the vision of the contrast of the ebony lingerie drawn tight against her fair skin, to your deliciously measured revelation at her hand, slender fingers teasing away each stitch and thread, unbuttoning your shirt, unlinking your cuffs, unbuckling the leather belt that will soon find its way around her throat, easing down the trousers and boxers sodden with your precum, exposing your hard and throbbing uncut cock to the coolness of the air and the softness of her breasts and the enveloping velvet greed of her sex?

Does she plead for more, for more, for more of you as she arches above, as she straddles your thighs and grinds her hips, your cock buried so deep nothing but this sensation matters or exists, does she whimper for you to take her, to fuck her without restraint or mercy, to unleash the beast within, to come, to come with her as she floods your glans, to come inside her with a violent roar, to have you paint her body with your seed, to run her fingers through the slick, to bring herself to another shuddering orgasm as you raptly look on, instantly aroused once more, denying you only to tempt your cream to become one with her skin, the mark she has been newly possessed by you, by the only man she truly longs for every night, every day?

Does your absence set in her ache, does she lie alone, naked and gleaming, draped in impenetrable shadows pining to live out the fantasies running riot, does she wake throbbing wet as the memory of you assaults her sexual soul over and again, does she tease her clitoris, finger her cunt as she cries into the ether the need for your return, the need to have you in her arms, the need for the union of your licentiousness, the need to have you fill the emptiness of her bed, her mouth, her intimate flesh, her most secret forbidden place?

Does she touch you because it makes little sense to leave you be, to leave you waiting, lingering, to leave your yearning flesh and primal passions unattended, does she touch you to indulge you, to inflame your own need for her touch and mind and body too, to have you equally desperate for this fusion, for skin on skin, flesh in flesh, man and woman, your dominance and her submission, for the seductress, the temptress, the shivering release of the treasured girl within, for the pout of her mouth and her devouring kiss, the crimson peak of her nipple, the alluring smoothness of the sweet cunt and its molten fire on your tongue, for her lithe suppleness writhing under your body and its weight, for the addictive taste of her mystery, for the libations that leave you soaked and sated, that leave you wild and ever hungry, that leave you in no doubt of the longings that destroy her, that leave you in no doubt of her want?

Does she touch you? Does she crave you?

Does she crave you utterly and completely the way I do?

Your voice filters through with the first rays of the sun, drawing me out of a restless slumber, rousing yet again this wanton desire, the body even now marked with the night’s carnal fury and aching pulsation, with the grip of your dominance and my easy slide into submission, the commands to which I yield always and completely, the slender legs parting at the mere whisper of your voice and hint of your fingers, the hips rising to meet the fire of your touch, to receive the drip of your words and your lashing tongue, the cunt begging for the kiss of your cock and the pearls of its glistening precum, the sex soaking the lily-white innocence you will defile and claim as your keepsake once you possess me and these soft, arching curves, once you fuck me with long, hard, steady strokes, once you spill your seed with a violent roar, once you own my slick and trembling orgasm and this insatiable craving for more, for more, one more…

Desire. This desire. My desire.

At this very moment, it is a burden, a cruel and vampiric drain that depletes all strength, all rationality, leaving me delicate and weak, inking my skin with impatience, marking the woman before you with an aching vulnerability, the nexus of her mind and soul and body nothing more than a raw and open wound of want, of need, of a craving so deep she is mended, reborn within your darkness and danger, within your protective embrace, your heated whispers and knowing caress, the passionate kisses devouring her surrender, the peaks of her breasts, the bare slickness of her sex, the sweet tears of release staining the blush high on her cheek.

The storm clouds, they gather; rolling in with the menace of electric whips and rumbling thunder, prematurely blackening the sky, defiling the morning just as this desire corrupts my mind and debases this body, this woman weakened by the want, the myopic want for you and only you, the craving for your power and domination, for each of the lustful urges that tear your flesh to easy shreds and scar your very soul, the grip of fingers in my hair, your hand at the curve of my throat, your mouth feeding the debauchery of your own need into my poised and glistening lips, the trailing touch of rough digits itching to bury themselves into my molten core, the sex, the cunt throbbing, silently screaming your name, the deluge between my legs, the ultimate betrayal of my enduring hunger, the hunger not merely for the cock straining hard against the fabric but also the feast of your kiss, our skin fused and gleaming with the carnality of our fucking, with the fire burning deep within, the flames engulfing, reducing to dust these bodies and just as quickly resurrecting, giving sweet life as we clutch and shudder, as we surge and cry out together, as the tempest rages in here and the now and the elsewhere for us both.