Romanticizing Smoldering Embers

I can feel you in my loins—your smile and sexy voice peeling back my layers.
You’ve got me wide-open.

Our proximity is eons apart preventing satisfaction.

I need you to gratify my decades long of soul yearning. My itch desires relief. Can you do it, huh?

Honestly, until recently, neither of us knew smoldering embers for the other existed—intriguingly interesting.

Look at your sexy self, pushing all up on my psyche, whispering your feelings and crackling my synapses.

Oh, wow, what do we do with this latent itch we metaphorically need scratching?
I’m digging the depths out of you. You feel me?

When restraint weakens, will we telepathically unite satisfying our unresolved groove?

Will we welcome each other in out of the emotional thunderstorm to remedy this thing—this us?

Say what? I didn’t know it was like that.

Mind thrusting each other match-for-match as I come up to meet your truth-telling flow arching my mind’s back—taking all of you in.

That’s it. Lay it down. Put your word-spell on me—like the best you evah had.
I’m feeling your truth all of what’s inside you.

I’m digging your flow, maestro, anticipating you even more.

The tempo of our life’s concerto quickens—oh, the crescendo.

You have me right there like once upon a time when you were my refuge the place I’d go when I needed shelter from the outside world’s disharmony.

As I reflect upon what we once shared, I wonder if I’m over romanticizing what was or am I feeling your psychic energy flowing towards me letting me know that it was and is all real.

Nesi Writes

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