...the shiver of your mouth on the nape of my neck, at dawn. Robins chirping and sunlight splintering through battered blinds onto my sleep-sodden body and your hands waking me, sure of their welcome as they trace the known paths from collarbone to curving belly to the impossible sensitivity of the junction of hip and thigh. A night spent not embraced, not after so many years, but almost touching still, with the warmth of your skin radiating across the few inches and the heady unspoken knowledge that a turn, a twist, a nightmare can bridge that distance in an unfelt instant. Waking to the almost silence of your mouth, speaking in breaths and licks and nibbles rather than unwieldy words that were never your first choice for communication. Shifting from pervasive dreams of you to the joyous solid presence of smooth chest firm against my back and a long hardness against right buttock and a thick male left leg insinuated between my own. Fingers find nipples and neck and pulse rates begin to rise -- your mouth travels down the curve of my back and up again, tormenting until finally I wake enough that I must twist and arch for your lips on mine, your kiss that is an ending and beginning...
Oh, love. Wish you were here.
Illustration copyright George Gordon 1997, (Georgegdn@aol.com), reprinted by permission.