On writing … love … and longing

When I speak upon your body with my touches, …

…it is my wit translated more perfectly from my mind, to my tongue direct to your body.  No fragile and flippant air between us to interfere. No rules of English, no false romance languages, no system of communication constructed to convey – yet clutter to our connection.  No fool’s errand who hoped by imposing their will & extra barriers, to express better than the primal language of love in to gibberish to pour forth from one’s mouth, applied to paper so it is never forgot – as if a flower blossom could ever forget the sun once struck fully by it’s life giving beam.

How could you hope to create something better than the shiver of her beneath my tongue?  A thousand words could not wrap her in my arms as tightly as a hug given without the rules of language and polite society.

Throw your fine soft sheets of cotton at her, may they cut through her defenses as my teeth against the base of her neck melts her into my arms regardless of where ever we might stand.

Pour your silken words over her with golden verbs in writ upon them.  They will never have the weight of my body against hers, even if both things evoke gasps of pleasure upon receipt.

Evoke from her a state of restrained & contained twitter-pation.  For my part, I shall by & by come upon my lady.  Her state induce first by my gaze upon her magnificence.  Her anticipation of things to come increasing in power like that of magnetic fields interacting as the distance between us vanishes.  Then her state incensed by touches light, by touches luxurious … with a succulent, slow sweet licks deftly delivered.  Then her state in fierce contrast – by riotous, rapid, reveling of her flesh my primal powers unleashed across the length of her shall reach an uncontrolled frenzy, which leaves her mindless & headless of surroundings and the noises thus emitting from her body thus opening the gates of the heavens themselves so the higher powers might rest their jealous gaze upon our moment.

The finest material or the best handcrafted materials will never hold a candle to the lightness of your lover’s skin.

Invoke your languages.  Give shape and form to the air itself.  It is but a prelude to the touch and an ode to the love, that here after which we long for years after it is gone.

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