Don't say that with your words that whip me to the way of your will. My body is nothing but a mediator between my mind and yours. My body sits on my hands and begs your nearness, but sits on my hands to maintain some measure of order between your mind and mine. I'd like to give my self, and to close the distance, but instead I beg for concentration. I measure my breath to the pattern of the rain beating on your window. I consider how miraculous the city looks at night, in the rain, in your view. Only partially though, only to gauge awareness. I focus on the movie playing on your TV; something old and black and white. Even the insanity galloping in the family on the screen and the dead body found in the window seat won't control my mind against your proximity. Which is, painfully close. I can see your small hand with the thin fingers that easily pluck out music and test my breathing. I'm appearing to watch the screen intently but you push back my hair. Its a sweeping motion that invokes want. It makes me tremble. Makes my body consider neglecting my hands' captivity. And then with your eyes trained on my face, as I can see from my peripheral vision, you cup my face and tug gently. You turn it to you and my eyes, betrayers such as they are, snap to your face and alert you that I had never been paying attention to Cary Grant. You lean in and in that split second my mind utters one million thoughts. My heart flutters and the control is given over to you. My body gives up, but more, gives in to absolute sensation. You twine those fingers that have spent many a moment in my thoughts through my wild fly away hair. My rebel hands find your narrow waist and pull at the fabric of your shirt. They sneak under, infiltrating. My thumbs stroke your skin, and its warm with want. You pull back from our kiss, breathing hard and exploring my eyes with your own beautiful set. Your perfect lips lean to my neck and kiss from behind my ear down my neck, meeting my collarbone a nipping delicately. Your hands wrap around your shirt and pull upward. I'm left breathless by your beauty, but only for a brief second and then the whole world falls apart. We are a tangle of limbs and lips and tastes that don't remain on the tongue, but instead invade the mind through nerves that end in explosive dying stars. I'm aware of nothing but clash of skin meeting skin and melting. We melt and I lose track of our surroundings and time. We travel through existence and I wake to a Paris sunrise, then again to a sweltering Spain afternoon, and then find Greek islands as our background. Your body moves atop mine and your gorgeous hair pours your face into a lovely frame as you look down at me. Your mouth is parted in what could be mistaken as potential words, but instead is spoken ecstasy. We meet and the curvature of our faces mold into a statue of purely elegant eroticism. Your eyes stun with their dark liner panning out your temperate features. The smile of your lips begging for me to trace because of their perfect drawn quality that would bring the non-responsible artist to his knees. You look at me with adoration I could not conjure, but can neither believe. You love me, and that strangeness bemuses my soul. You run your hands through my hair, that whips in the air and teases you the sight of my hour glass. But you're no hourglass, you're a willow maybe. But more solid and real. You may be a birch branch, one bent from the storms that alluded Robert Frost. And yet your waist matches mine in that it sifts the sands of time. Eventually we come to begging, and I do. I beg for the sky to meet the earth and crush me at its center. I beg for you to never leave, though I never intended those words to escape. You pause then and leaning in cupping my face meet my lips. The beautiful words tumble off your tongue and form against my lips.
I am by your side until the world splits and pigs fly. Because you could never just say
I won't leave.
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