Swift

Apr. 22nd, 2008 at 1:47 AM

I can smell you on me still, hours after leaving you. Even through my illness, I can smell your scent. Intoxicating. My fingers know no greater joy than being curled tightly in the heated embrace of your sex. Ah my temptress, let me beguile you with the lust you arouse. Show me the mercy that only your touch can. You have left me a wild, wicked, animal howling at a full moon. Let me roam freely in the curves of your countryside. Let me smell your wildflower scent on windburned breezes. I am undone, but I can smell you still, hear your whispered curses as you tremble against me. Sleep is like a phantom, a thief that robs you from me, leaving me alone without the warmth of your skin and only your fading scent to wake to.