Love of Making

Last night I thought of your curves. Everything from the way your fabric hugs your skin. My eyes following the edges which separate you from it. How so smooth yet so tight, at times boisterous with beauty. Most of which is left to imagination. As though a apple being dipped in hot caramel – There you are beaded with moister. I do mean moist. These brown hands encasing every volume of your canvas. Pressed against you infinitely bound with pleasure. Savoring every smell and taste allowed to par-take of. Places visited of full bliss. Sounds made that are angelic even in the darkest of places. Whispered, “I got you” – giving you acquiesce to release delectation. Still inter-twined in beauty as night passes to day. Alone I shall be. The scent of you still on me.