And I will dress for you in nothing but silk stockings, my sensual nakedness trembling and on display, craving to have you, to have your hands finally upon me, to watch them glide along the sheathed line of these long and slender legs, to feel your palms firm on the ebony tops, your fingers dancing lightly on the skin atop, before you ease me, spread me shamelessly wide open, my body arching, pouting, my sex gleaming and wanton, hungry for possession, for the sweetest violation, your thick and hard pulsation, the thunder and the fire, our voracious need.

Her body
Born of passion

Her soul
Whispered creation

The lands of untamed beauty so close to my fair city, they burn, engulfed in soaring flames, savagely reduced to ash and dust and smoke that finds its way here to me, that suffocates the ether, that morphs the sun and transforms its golden rays into streaks of the cruellest platinum.

Bathed in this blistering heat, in this false and unforgiving luminosity, I ache for the loss; my heart shatters at the devastation. And yet, I wait now, bare and exposed and alone, my skin gleaming with the sheen, shivering in fevered want, needing, hungry for the ruin of our own unique blaze, the fire my body refuses to forget and erase, the sensual softness of your touch and the sweet violence of your flesh as you open and take and possess me, as you consume my very soul, as you kiss these lips, giving life, taking breath, as you slide yourself deep inside me, my cunt clutching and flooding, fingers and nails scratching and drawing the blood that thunders through your veins, your hips thrusting the force of man into my feminine fragility, the thick hard cock that knows me and perfects me, fucks me and devours me, marks me and fills me until I come, until I break, until I cry out like an anguished animal on the brink of defeat.

You live in the sigh, in this body’s rapturous arc, in the yearning buried deep in my bones, in the flutter, in the rush, in the softness of this skin and the dripping violence between my legs, in the gleam that prickles this flesh each time your voice comes flooding back, in the night before as I open this woman to these primal desires, as I drench and tangle and knot the sheets on my bed, in the morning after when I invariably hunger, when these lips long to know, long to know you, long to dress you in scarlet smudges, in teasing caresses, in long deep passionate kisses.

I miss you.

And the way things used to be.

And the way we were together.

And the fire – our fire – that would threaten to annihilate us both, sparked by the simplest word, the briefest gaze, the smallest sigh, the mere brush of bodies and fingers and trembling lips.

And the instant I felt you, felt you inside me, felt you deep in my flesh and my bones, felt you and your gaze and your weight and your voice as new and unknown and yet just like home.

And that moment, that one perfect moment where time stood still and the distance between us contracted and you genuinely craved my warmth, my truth, where we laid each other bare, stripped away the fear, the hesitation, all pretence, where we confessed it all with intimacy and absolution, where we revealed like never before, where we merged with lust and sin and tenderness, where we stood on the precipice, on the brink of something real, something more.

And the freedom of this desire – this desire for you – the freedom to feel it, to speak it, to live it and breathe it, to fuck it, to kiss and touch and devour each other until we moan and clutch and scream and come, until our bodies tremble in exhausted bliss, until they silently beg again for the glistening heat, to fuck you, to fuck it and fuck it up so absolutely you will dress me in your angry silence and cold resentment and I will shed big hot furious tears, to fuck it up, to tear us apart, to piece the shreds back together again with passion, with lightness, with careful words softly spoken, with easy steps and a gentle caress, with gestures verging on affection, on love.

The time has come, lover. I have waited far too long.

My desire for you is threatening, fevered; my patience threadbare, worn.

I need you – need you now – to move in close, to shed your jacket, loosen your tie, to bind me, possess me, to take control, to run your hands along the perfumed nakedness lingering at your door, to expose this flesh, this smooth sex dripping its desperate heat, to bare this cunt to your carnal darkness, to your gaze and your fingers, to your hard voracious cock, to the parched mouth thirsty for a taste, to seize the body here, the seductress defiant, the woman yielding, to kiss and grasp and fuck and hold the one existing for you, for you, your pleasure, your bidding.

If I rise up, if I reach into the light, if I breach the boundary unravelling us, if I caress the margin on high, will you be waiting, will your hands take hold of mine, will you ease my supple form into the promise of the pure indigo sky, will you take me in your arms, enfold my nakedness in yours, will you ignite this desiring soul, this yearning flesh, this sensual woman for evermore?

How can it be, lover? How can it be?

How can it be your carnal masculinity turns me on my head so easily? How can it be the anticipation of your touch leaves me shivering, aching wet? How can it be the yearning for your flesh compels these legs to rise up to heaven’s edge? How can it be the desire for your body to slide along, between, inside this velvet heat reduces me to a whimpering mess? How can it be, lover? How can it be? How can it be the thought of you shatters this woman so absolutely?

The night is cold
Its darkness lonely
The warm softness of this body
Too great to bear