Dreams

I woke up wanting to kiss you.

I woke up wanting you inside me.

Escalated quickly, like I imagined our breathing would.

I miss your body next to mine, embracing mine, on top of mine, as one with mine.

Your strong, once-broken arms and back to caress with every movement.

Let me get on top, so I can see you better.

So I can train my hands along the curves on your chest, through your curly hairs—that’s where my hand belongs.

My lips tracing over your ribs, using my tongue to guide them with your sweet taste, leading me to my other hand. Carefully, intently, grasping your member, touching every detail. Every line, every curvature, every memory of me— I want to know you as one with my hand before I guide you inside my wet walls.

But not yet.

I work my way back up to run my hand through your hair, to cradle your face and look you in your deep eyes, while yours look back at mine.

Consent. Consent to making this time better than the last. Something we don’t say out loud because it always comes true.

Throbbing, like fireworks getting ready to explode. Caution signs flashing behind closed eyelids, slippery when wet—is that you or me?

It’s us. When we collide, it’s not calculated- it’s the brewing of a perfect storm.

Lightning and thunder, you and I.

I wake up. I woke up wanting to kiss you.

To be continued.