Sleeping with you

I couldn't sleep.

Lying in the dark, trying to fall into a state of sleep, forcing my eyes to stay closed.

I bring you to mind, your face, your mouth, your smell, your skin, your touch and sounds and taste.  The way that you once looked at me, the way I looked at you.  The moments of tenderness, moments of passion, beatific moments of vulgarity and indecency.  Sometimes just one of those things, sometimes all of those things, all of the memories remain quite vivid, lucid yet almost theatrical.

They may fade with time.

But those memories, each one of them, enshroud me in a cloak, a blanket veil. Warmth. Peacefulness. Gentleness. 

Sleep. 

I was the first . . .

I watched her face, the tears rolling down her cheeks, the moans and groans that escaped her beautiful lips, the screams that she let out as my hand went deeper still.

 

She was shy and filled with guilt and shame as she cried out for me to fuck her harder, my hand willingly obliging.

 

The pain on her face was exquisite, ecstasy swept over her body like an electric charge, as she came over my hand in a frenzy.  She bucked and twisted, as my fist plunged in and out of her, stretching her, feeling her.  I could feel her muscles twitching and straining with wave after wave of orgasm.  I didn't relent, not even when she stopped, wanting to force every last orgasm from her innocent body.

I held her when it was over, rocking her.  Stroking her hair. Kissing her gently. Wiping her shame filled tears from her beautiful cheeks as I whispered into her ear that she was beautiful when she came.

 

I was the first person to put a hand inside her. 

 

She was the first I had put my hand inside.

I crave your mouth

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
Like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

—Pablo Neruda