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It always starts slow;
One sweeping sigh
Breathed into your neck
While our hands find their homes
On inner thighs and knobby knees.

Then our kisses become crazed,
And lips part for visiting tongues
Until we are entwined and engulfed
In bed sheets and palpable excitement.

But the space between
The sweet and the swift gestures
Is where I want to stay
With anticipation and anxiousness,

Asking myself:
Will I be sated or sorry?
:icongone-sugaring:

Author's Comments

I need to get my groove back, ya heard?

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:iconteenagejesus:
'Asking myself:
Will I be sated or sorry?'

yessssss!
back with a vengence i'd say...


-jeez

--
need some hell.

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February 24
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