The last of your kind-
A gentle soul with a wild streak.
I lie in the crook of your arm,
my fingertips playing morse code on the edge of your naked hip,
lips brushing your chest for the sake of the taste.
Your words muffled in my hair,
Your breath on my temple.
I try to burn the feeling of our legs intertwined,
into my heart, and
Your warm palm carefully cupping my bare ass.
You will skillfully make my skin weep,
and then you'll be gone...
I will be left,
with a single memory:
the ghost of your tongue
trailing along my spine
around the curve of my neck
ending in a sea of desire-
your lips crashing into mine:
salt water waves eroding rough rock,
leaving behind smooth sand.