Aching for His Advice

"And entering with relief some quiet place / Where never fell his foot or shone his face / I say, 'There is no memory of him here!' / And so stand stricken, so remembering him."
--Edna St. Vincent Millay
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I lie in bed. Legs pulled to my tits in the fetal position. Remembering the look of your skin, your naked chest, the luscious dangerous curves of your pecs. The droplets of water the shower would leave on you that I longed to dry with my tongue. Your tiny brown nipples like rocks under my lips and fingertips. The taste of you, soap and sweat and salt. The way you'd suck so hard on my tongue sometimes it was sore the next day. Sometimes looking down where our bodies touched, the sudden halting contrast of your caramel skin against my porcelain white the most fiendishly erotic, sensual thing I'd ever witnessed.  I've been wanting to text you lately to tell you my phone was stolen so if you called that's why you hadn't heard from me. Knowing full well you haven't. Not even sure you think about me anymore. And if you do... You claimed it was good when we were together, in fact the best you'd ever had. So why don't you come back? We were both trembling and happy, it seemed. You pulling me up with shaking arms from your couch where I'd carefully laid the towel in case I was bleeding too heavily that day. Secretly I was glad because of it, all I wanted was to feast on you, your lust and pleasure in my mouth and throat, the taste of your moans, that beautiful communion. I'd told you I always felt so good after a blow job, I swore there had to be some type of healing medicinal properties in guys' cum. You wouldn't stop shaking and laughing. You had to be at work in twenty minutes. Kept trying to catch your breath even though my stomach had long been digesting you. Forgetting your wallet, your keys, your cap which you never forget. Strange, I'll never know exactly why you will not call but I'll never know anything with greater certainty that I'll never hear from you again. So I'll seek the oblivion of sleep to forget you, knowing full well my mind won't ever let go, will be cruel and make you show up in my dreams, your balls swallowed whole in my mouth and my hands locked tight at the backs of your knees and your scent of Armani and maleness still sweet and full in my nostrils. Knowing I'll be trying every minute from here to eternity to forget you but remembering every time in spite of myself. Wishing I could just text you to answer me how to say no next time around, how to abstain and be a good girl and make him wait, how to keep the next one who comes along in my arms and make him never leave me, a guy who will never ever be anything at all like the haunting perfection that was you.