To whom it may concern,
Hi. You are beautiful today. You don’t just look beautiful. When I close my eyes I can feel an aura about you and it makes me so queasy I almost threw up my stomach tied itself into a knot and drank itself to death, and then woke up in heaven, relieved.
You extend past yourself.
Gasses take on the size and shape of their container, but when you enter a room, not only do you immediately displace all the air so that I can no longer breathe anything but you, but you begin to permeate my brain and the walls, and you set into the carpet.
All this to say that I don’t need to see you to know, truly and unquestionably, that you are beautiful.
I certainly don’t need to smell you either.
What I need is to touch you. I need it like the pleasant grit of printer paper when I drag a dull pencil across from corner to corner tracing a flowing curve. Like the soft but insistent pressure of
the inside of a warm boot, a ripe plum, waves upon the shore. I need to press into you and imprint into the world your exact outline because the alternative is that the world might forget something so perfect and that is unacceptable, to slowly pull the covers around you so that you are finally all mine, and your boobs are too.
What I need is to taste you
like wine; pleasantly but with no idea what I’m doing. Starting from your lips as you stretch your chin up and to the right, to your neck as you arch your back and your breaths get shallow, halfway down your collar to change directions as your breaths become deep again. To kiss a sacred trail to your breasts and suck on your nipples. Your muscles tense and your eyes half close and I need the taste of your stomach and the taste of your navel and below your navel. The anticipation of pleasing you turns me on so much.
Five senses isn’t enough.
What I need is to be one with you. I need the smell of your skin, the feel of it against me, trapping our warmth beneath the blanket. I need the sound of your gasps, your breath on my face, and to fall into your eyes. I need you to hold on to me like the world is spinning – you and the world – and your lips on me. I need it desperately, so save me from this consuming longing, please.