Pomp on a Yellow Sun Hue
The Sunday sun shone its smooth silky yellow hue through my windows that evening. We silently laid on the couch, our heads opposite from each other as you waved in and out of sleep. At a point you longingly proposed to sit on me. I was watching my game but I couldn’t say no.
Your spunky delicious body wrapped in a short pink shift dress buttered itself on my chest. Thighs beside mine, leaning in the posture of a frog.
I shed a tear kissing you and you wiped it off my eye. Asking if I was alright. And I looked at you. And I could tell that you understood my silent answer. It was as though I released a suffering I had held in for eons. Then you went ahead to choke me while kissing me harder. I was so horny I wanted to die.
You looked at me with unwavering certainty. It made me feel strong. Made me feel forgiven. I want to be looked at more like that. Your aura heals my broken hallelujahs.
We went on to excite each other’s ding-a-lings. The bells were ringing. Your fingers on mine, my fingers on yours. Rounding and rubbing.
I like it when you go to work on my banana. Its peels fall on your hands so gracefully. The creamy mess afterwards. You turn me into a milkman.
Later in the many hours that whizzed by; I offered you a full body to body massage. Gliding my chest on your back in the oil like a large snake. Your soundless moans fueled my appetite.
I’m still hungry for you. I want you to go to sleep with my voice in your head. Whispering sweet nothings to your ear. Urging you to bring back that utterly luscious body to me. And you’d nod yes as if begging for mercy, as if desperately imploring me to fuck you.
We cuddled in the night like drunk lovebirds. And I just wanna say that I miss you.
Please come home so we could do each other again.