The candles burn themselves out, but this flame will not extinguish.
You misunderstood when you thought I read in the early morning hours before you woke. I do not read in these hours, I write. I write how it feels to wonder if you are being gentle for me or for you. I write my desire to feel my lips bruised from the pressure of your kiss. I write the fantasies of your skin against mine, having just left yours behind the door.
I know, I know, I should wake you. I should take you in my mouth and let you wake to warmth and moisture. But what I really want is to sleep in your arms. I want to still be sleeping when you wake. I long to awake to you between my legs… your cock, your tongue, your fingers… anything. Just to wake up knowing that you could not stay there next to me, without touching me.
That’s why I am in the other room you know. I cannot lay next you and not touch you. I am here to let you sleep, for that reason alone. I cannot forget that be it early or late… near or far… real or imagined… it’s always hot with you.
So I’m in the other room, hoping you’ll wake soon. Just so much as a stir and I’ll be next to you again. Reminding you that it’s always hot when it’s with me.
~Asherah
posted @ 9:31 AM
