Tuesdays became obsolete... I wonder why ?!

Just the touch of your hand upon my soft flesh makes me forget to breathe.

It's those moments of you touching me intimately with such precision that I can't help but release a sigh as I drift upon that melodic riff, from dusk to dawn.
 
Your touch alone, would mark me like an imprint etched upon my heart and soul, forever caste to be your one and only love as I read from the psalms that are inscribed upon the palm of your hands.
 
There is friendship. There is respect. There is love. There is desire.
 
And then, there is sex. The kind of sex that lingers heavily in the air like fog as you fill the raging fire that you've sparked in the depths of my sex, longingly aching to be lost for words in that moment of being freshly fucked, and submerged in the moment of orgasmic bliss, rhyming resilience within the grooves of lick, suck and fuck.
 
Collectively, its a culmination of moments that are derived from the essence of my whole dripping like honey from your lips, and the trail of markings you leave upon my fingertips as you grip me firmly by the hips.

The height of our love would be as endless as the height of the Appalachians, contrasted upon what we both want and need to feel from a lover that's never left to ponder, what if.
 
The motion of your hands on my thighs as they trail their way towards the chamber of our secrets would leave me tingling, and aching to feel your soft breath trailing the beat of my heart, as if you were returning home to nestle.