…the shiver of your mouth on the nape of my neck, at dawn.
Robins chirping and sunlight splintering through battered blinds onto my
sleep-sodden body and your hands waking me, sure of their welcome as they
trace the known paths from collarbone to curving belly to the impossible
sensitivity of the junction of hip and thigh. A night spent not embraced,
not after so many years, but almost touching still, with the warmth of
your skin radiating across the few inches and the heady unspoken knowledge
that a turn, a twist, a nightmare can bridge that distance in an unfelt
instant. Waking to the almost silence of your mouth, speaking in breaths
and licks and nibbles rather than unwieldy words that were never your
first choice for communication. Shifting from pervasive dreams of you to
the joyous solid presence of smooth chest firm against my back and a long
hardness against right buttock and a thick male left leg insinuated
between my own. Fingers find nipples and neck and pulse rates begin to
rise — your mouth travels down the curve of my back and up again,
tormenting until finally I wake enough that I must twist and arch for your
lips on mine, your kiss that is an ending and beginning…
Oh, love. Wish you were here.
Illustration copyright George Gordon 1997, (Georgegdn@aol.com), reprinted by permission.