I miss you so much sometimes…
You know, I can hardly write here anymore. You’ve spoiled me for any other man. I can’t – no – don’t want to write what is not. The irony isn’t lost on me. Nor you I suppose. Wherever it is that you are now.
Funny how anger can lose its razor-sharp edges over time. Almost a year now Baby.
That name slips off my tongue so easily. I hear it in your voice though. Bourbon and Marlboros, whispering over golden wheat fields.
And oh God – if there is such a thing – how I miss you when I hear the kiss of your voice against my ear. “Baby”, growled soft and low as you stand behind me, running your huge hands down my arms, stooped to reach the shell of my ear. I’ve never felt so safe and yet so bereft in my life as I do now.
I feel you everywhere.
You tattooed yourself onto my skin. Words, kisses, sweat, spit, cum… You wrote yourself onto my body, into my heart and soul. Wrenched out by the madness in your own and yet… here I am now.
Craving yet the smoothness of your skin, the long sinewy muscles of your thighs, thrumming under my fingertips, my lips, my tongue. Aching for those huge hands to run down my back, cup my ass and pull me close to you.
Whisper please… whisper again how much you love me. Tell me everything will be okay again someday.
For my desire is nothing but winter. My body cold and frozen, ice in my veins and a howling blizzard in my heart. All that remains of you, me, the fire of we.
Is this tiny spark.
This contained flame, this tip of your cigarette as you stub it out and once again pull me to you.
“You’re mine Kiddo. Always. Don’t forget me. Promise me Karin. Don’t forget me.”
As if I ever could.
7 January 2015
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