my fingtertips traced a forbidden path.

down the curve of your spine, across the bridge of your hipbone. june 10, 10:41pm, 2010.

it was tracks left by fingernails that started it.
teasing moans, broken and hushed.
a slip of skin between shirt and shorts.
a flippant, "you know you want me."
that's what started it.

i pressed a kiss to that special place,
where neck and shoulder meet.
you left your own mark,
nestled between the lines i carved.

it was the twists of our hands that ended it.
it was a whiplash of a cry when it was over.
high and reedy and out of control,
sharp and gorgeous.

it echoed through my blood,
reverberated into my veins.
[in fact, i think it still does.]
my heart pumped in time with yours,
our hips rose and fell,
that's what ended it.
left us both boneless,
left us both shaking,
left the eight ball rolling across the table,
colliding with the last stripe, orange.
[your favorite color.]

"i win," you breathed.
"you spoke too soon," i whispered,
"the eight ball fell first."

oh, and we were so close, too.