This is how I feel when you touch me

Our hug in the doorway after a long day; that's where it happens — that moment when our eyes meet and we both lean forward. A quick kiss, hello.

Your hands shake when you slide them under my shirt. The curve of my waist is one arc of raindrops in the streetlight -- the door is still wide open. I like the way you smell — the patchouli-y musk of your neck and the inside of your arms.

You kiss me, and it tastes like slightly sour watermelon — did you just have a watermelon before I arrived? It is humid out, but under that moonlight, everything gets cold quickly. There's a long thin scar on your forearm.

You kiss me and it's like that song that was playing in your car when you lean to kiss me for the first time.

When I look at you, all I want to do is lick you like an ice cream — the tip of my tongue exploring every inch of your skin. Licking up all those tiny beads of sweat under your jaw, it tastes so sweet.

You kiss me all over, oh how much I love that —warmth spreading through my body like a forbidden drug. You get my lipstick off with your thumb and I want your fingers on my lips to stay. Your eyes are blue like the ice cream man's truck.

You touch me -- the world blurs and my stomach flips over. My breath gets caught somewhere in the back of my throat — I can feel it when I swallow past it. Your eyes get so dark they look black, your pupils dilated wide from want. It's a look that tells me, we are not done with each other. Not yet.

The way our bodies fit together tells me that this must mean something —that even if we haven't talked about it, there's no way this is casual. It means something.

I kiss you in bed, we are lacing our fingers together as the last light of day fades from the sky. I wrap myself over you like a little girl caught in a game, and I adore the way you grin; my hair falls down around your face like a curtain.

You kiss me harder and slow down. Run your fingers over my hips and chest like you're trying to memorize every curve of them — like you want to etch them into your memory with a pencil drawing so you never, ever forget.

I moan and you swallow the sound like a pill — like it's the medicine you needed so badly. Like this is what we need to survive. I want you so bad it hurts everywhere, and when your fingers slip inside me, I make a sound that has too many meanings. It starts with "I" — "I want you, I love you. I am out of my mind..." Maybe this is what immortality feels like.

You touch me and it's steady — it's not frantic, but savoring — your fingers grasp every inch of me firmly. You touch me and you make me come.

Your voice is giddy with laughter, but the aftertaste of it on your lips is sadness. You kiss me until you are smiling again—your eyes bright blue lines blinking back tears. For a moment I feel outside myself — like if you put your hand over my heart it would stop beating. I'm still shaking when you pull me into your arms, but when I tilt my head back you kiss me—one last time and put my hair behind my ears.

I want to remember how my body feels under your hands in case I never get to feel it again — the prickle of goosebumps when I shiver. You stay inside me until it's almost too much and when you pull out I can feel you come. Hot and sticky, it's so much more than sex — this is two parts desperation and one part comfort all rolled together to make a ball of something that feels like love.

You catch my face in your hands as though you're going to say something, but instead you kiss me softly. I trace your face like it's a map like if I can commit everything about you to memory it will be okay, even when we know — we both know that we might never see each other again.

You hold my hand until you're asleep, and I'm watching the way the streetlight's shadows fall across your face.

When I get up and leave, I close the door softly so you don't wake up.

. . .

Thank you. You may read my other Vocal stories here.