Heady Like Wine

I like the contrast between our skin. The slim, lean look of him. How my fingers thread through his wiry, dark hair. The way he struts. The smooth expanse of his back. The soapy, clean scent of his neck. His thighs. Tasting myself in his mouth. The glasses perched on his nose. The light trail of hair leading down from his bellybutton. His guilty, crooked smile. The ropes of tight muscles in his arms. The deep baritone of his voice. The speed with which we connect on several levels at once. The image of my ankles hooked around his back. Whispering to him in the dark. His breath on my face. Tracing patterns on his stomach. My head resting on his chest.

The nights we had.