I write desperate sex.
Hungry and urgent
With no recourse
But to fuck.
It’s dirty and rough,
Terse and fractured,
Filling a dark need.
Yesterday I was still. Just for a moment. But long enough to let the shaking maple leaves lull me. The leaves were on the little trees planted in the brown circles, lined up in a row. The wall of windows illuminated me, and the green chair that held me, as I let my thoughts unwind. When the needs of the day had passed. When my frustration had passed. When my desperation had passed. And when I let go of my lust. I was at peace.
I closed my eyes but the sun shone through. I saw a bright room. A bed, white and soft and clean. I saw her, smiling slightly.
Imagine touching someone while at peace.
Imagine kissing in a bright, and clean, and silent room.
Imagine how tender your caresses would be if the softest sound pierced the silence.
Imagine how slowly you could slide your hand down their spine and over their bottom.
Imagine how delightful it would be to surround and be surrounded by someone.
Imagine staring sweetly into their eyes before a deep and sensuous kiss.
Imagine resolving that kiss to find their eyes still closed, moist lips parted, and that little bit of wet tongue waiting for another kiss, which you must, must, must give.