He licks me like I'm fragile.
Like I'm so unique, so delicate, so irreplaceable, that one false move and I could be gone forever.
He leaves prints on my skin and comes back to retrace them the next time we lie in bed together.
Surprised to see that his fingerprints existed on me hours before.
The first time I sat on top of him and wrapped my legs around his waist,
I heard seagulls in the distance.
I felt the last traces of sunlight fall behind the hills and I smelt the warm river water,
the smells of the earth kept me grounded,
placed me closer to the moment with him.
My body fell,
the way his skin seemed to trace mine so perfectly.
I didn't have to escape.
I could shoot my eyes open and watch the scenes of the empty beach
while I felt him push deeper inside me,
felt his teeth sink into mine,
felt his fingers curl
around the places I needed him to touch.
I inhale the moments where he keeps his eyes on mine,
where he says my name,
where his hands slowly slip my pants off.
I gulp them up and swallow them whole,
doing everything in my power to absorb the time I have.
The time he is here,
he is present
and he can't resist me.
I feel him in scenes,
I hold my breath waiting for the plot to change on me
and I kiss him in the spaces that smell close to home.
I wait until the morning sunlight slips in through my window,
the red sun illuminates the dashboard, his hand travels to my thighs
and I whisper what I want to say,
what I shouldn't say.
