I'm so lazy I'm posting old stuff

His skin has a pale luminescence, almost like the clarity of the moon on a summer’s night, yet retaining that unique quality of living flesh. His chestnut curls frame a handsome face innocent with the affects of sleep. Long lashes lay against slightly flushed cheeks. I want to devour the details of his physical essence, knowing the limitlessness of human cells unconsciously denies me. The skin of his neck glides gently under the movement of my hand; fingers memorising every tiny crevice; discovering the diversity of perfection that exists in every minuscule texture of skin. Each hair bends under my finger tips, disturbed by the brush of skin, only to fold silently back into place. The soft down on the back of his neck smells like our future babies and I luxuriate in the pleasure of his creamy scent.

The inconstant light of a candle plays games with our profiles against the cool stone wall across the room. The stage for a fantasy played out by shadow actors, the erotic memory pressed into the shiny white surface like a sunset on a cloudy day: amber, rose and mandarin. I can sense that basic emotion I reserve only for him, assert itself inside my belly and across my lungs. My pulse flutters noticeably in my throat and I recall the sensation of his full lips hot on my mouth; a string of kisses down my back; goose bumps despite the heat and the sweet taste of contentment in my mouth.

Questions? Comments?