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At 4 a.m., I rose to hold
His warmth against the morning’s cold.
One last kiss, soft on my lips,
Just before he left my grip.
ꨄ
Now lying alone in bed,
His scent still clings to me,
The sheets hold warmth, a fading trace,
Of where he’s meant to be.
ꨄ
A gentle pull, a tender ache,
My body stirs, yet stays awake.
Petals part, soft as a sigh,
Waiting for him, though minutes pass by.
ꨄ
My fingers drift, but they can’t replace
The feel of him, the warmth, the weight.
A yearning pulse, a rising need,
As wetness flows, my fingers lead.
ꨄ
Dipping low, I close my eyes,
Imagining his mouth between my thighs.
His sucking, his licking, every tease,
Drawing out soft moans that whisper, “please.”
ꨄ
Heat erupts, dissolving the ache,
But as bliss fades, it’s clear and plain—
The longing returns, a sweet, sharp pain,
Counting down hours ‘til he’s here again.
