Even though I know what it does to my heart, still I lay here night after night and morning after morning and all I can think about is you. It’s the words you speak. The look in your eye. I think about our lips touching. How I want you to devour me. Inhale me. Consume me. I want to feel your fire spread when we touch. The rough feel of your hand as it smacks me hard or softly caresses. My own fire becoming liquid love coursing down my cheeks, down my thighs. I think about your voice, softly urgent in the moment, growling out instructions and praises. My own joining yours in crescendo morphing into sighs and shudders and panting. I imagine you gripping my hair, holding my face as you push yourself deep inside my wet warmth, our eyes locked, frozen in time, more intimate than any space of time shared previous. Deeply I fall into those dark murky pools, my blues peering into the depths of your browns. Layers upon layers. What do you see there? Do you see my love? Do you see my doubts? Do you see my fear and my pasts? Do you see my sins and my worries and my hidden thoughts and my lusts and my desires? I am in wonder that you don’t look away, trembling, at what you see within me. And so I lay here, my hand stretched out for you, remembering all those things you said to me. All those looks you cast my direction; I want to believe. To believe in Us. Yet, there you are, across the many miles that separate us and I’m here, barren and alone.
tara caribou | ©2017
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