thinking (you)

I’m thinking about how your fingers traverse my skin, how they follow the trail of body hair and hike up every bump and scar.

I’m thinking about what it feels like, to have my skin pressed against yours, to hold and be held, to feel and be felt, to mould, be melted and smelted.

I’m thinking about what it’s like to smell you, to devour your scent like coke up my nostrils, to have your love fog my vision, for you to disappear and leave nothing but smoke behind you.

I can still hear you huffing and puffing, I can still feel your hot breath on my neck. I’m still tingling from the forest of kisses that you planted on my chest.

I can’t sleep because I’m too busy dreaming of you. Your presence lingers in my room and even though you’re gone, you haven’t left me yet.

The air is thick with you. I’m full of you. You’re the manifestation of my dreams, you’re my desires made palpable, feelable and fuckable.

And yet, all I want is to be the hairs on your chinny-chin-chin. I just want to be held in your gaze and (be)holded in your arms. I only want to nestle myself in every nook, cranny and crevice of your skin. I only want to be cradled. I want to plant myself on your body while you implant yourself in mine. I want to lie in this bed with you and us be rooted in each other.

I want this easiness forever.