I am home, now, home here in the snow, trapped away from possibility, touch, trapped here thinking of sun and warmth, and your tongue tracing my lips, your face buried down between my legs as I arch back, as I grab your head and caress it, then grasp it back close into me as you seem to back away, maybe just for air, maybe just for rest, maybe just to change positions, but maybe to stop, which I most surely most surely do not want you to do right now, oh no.
Snow, come, but not the wait, the want. I want, yes, want you here in my bed, you here, on a complicated cold day, on an uncomplicated warm day, here, not in my mind and my fingertips, but here, your fingers, my legs spread wide exposing my lust for you on a snow white bed, on a grassy field, on another day. Here, my words, not just my words… my words, your words, colliding, intersecting, comprehending, asking, answering, yes, soon, yes.
It is bliss to have a cat curled up in your lap. Bliss to stroke the silky fur, bliss to feel that quiet rumble of contentment.
If I were a cat, I would let you pet me, just like that. I would let you run your hands luxuriously down the length of my body, arching my back in pleasure.
And yes, I would no doubt purr.
Waiting, were you?..
I was late, too, coming here hurried, to your lips, waiting, your hands unbuttoning and pushing my dress from my shoulders… now just lace and pearls, naughty and nice, sugar and spice, sweetness and light.. and dark. Dark here in the afternoon light, fading in the clouds, promising rain, promising….