I touch you with my fingertips, my fingerprints, the smallest contact, the gentlest of strokes. Miles of skin to snake across slowly. Your body so lovely, tender like fruit, like a dream that lingers into the day.
My touch is a whisper, a wisp, light as a cloud, but with the warmth of blood. I could roam across your planes, the valleys and hills of your human landscape, for endless aeons.
Your smile invites, I visit your face with a touch of a finger. The sweep of your forehead, the arc of a brow, the shell of an ear, and finally, inexorably, the complex curves of your mouth. I make contact, your lips part. Hot, humid breath escapes silently, a song of sighs.
Take my hand and rest my palm upon you, then add the weight of yours. If on your chest, dissolve into sleep. Or choose to spark a wildfire, and tumble awake with hot gasping jolts.
I will come back to you darling, and drape myself beside you tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/bv1kjp/a_gentle_touch_is_all_you_need_fm_mm_ff
Tagged weird because there’s no details that swing it either way
This is a beautiful prose poem. I don’t see any need to identify which kind of who is doing what to which kind of whom. Love is love. This deserves to be read in a hushed whisper to a lover.
So true!