In a city that isn’t ours, between Mexico and Jerusalem, you stand statuesque before me as I sit poised and still. Faint, slow moans of intoxicating instruments strumming their own story secretively from afar. The kind that makes you feel soulful, yet, heated from within, and a mixed cocktail of the two.
You run a quick brush across my hair and begin to press against my knee to uncross my legs, spreading so slowly a part. Just to my waist you squat down, slipping my skirt over hips and thighs. I’m already feeling the pressure of your thoughts, my love, subdued by the wet between my legs.
How happy I am to have you here within a grasp of my heart.
“Let me watch,” he says while completely dressed, on stone legs, between me, leading, always knowing what he wants. He continues, “Show me where you like to touch when I’m away from you so far.”
You place your hand firmly on my face and insert your thumb into my mouth. You like to feel my lips in circles, purposefully, while pressing into my tongue.