When you get home I want you to fuck me.

We're always making love, tender and long and sweet.
Which is beautiful.

but what I want is a reminder. I want to see the marks; the hickeys, the bruises, the scratches. I want to be part of your territory again. I want to hurt a little so that I don't feel so empty anymore, so that I know that you care, so that I can heal a little from all the hurts so many others have inflicted on me.

I love you.

now take me and etch yourself on my body again.

horrible pun excluded

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

-e. e. cummings

because it made me cry this afternoon when I read it. and also on an unrelated subject, your housemates invited me to dinner on Monday, while is super sweet of them.
although I'm sure it's because you asked the to involve me before you left...

thanks.

Have I mentioned yet how much I miss you?
How you haunt my dreams... we're kissing at the zoo, outside the rhino habitat, but I want to show you my favorite parts, the giraffes, the gazelle, and the nocturnal animal house, where it is dark. It's raining, so there isn't really anyone else there, just the snakes and the bats and what might be a bushbaby.
I pull you down onto one of the benches, see how they burrow together for warmth?, and raise my skirt, raise the hem up so that you can just see the clasps of my red garters. And we both know that when I wear my red garter belt I don't wear panties.

and that's when I woke up, pulled out my vibrator and killed another set of bateries. I'm so horney in the mornings now... which is strange because you are not a morning person, we almost never have morning sex. It doesn't bother me when you're here because I can smile across at you, cleave myself to your back and run my fingers through your hair before falling back asleep (or getting up for work).
But now there's nothing to do but dream of where you are and masturbate.
*sigh*

lingerie

I don't usually wear a bra.
You've noticed, or at least you notice when I do wear one. When your hands slids up my side as we cross a parking lot.
I like wearing them sometimes because I think they're pretty.
But I prefer not to, my breasts are small and comfortable against the inside of my shirt and I like the way they bounce a little when I walk.
And I like the way it feels when you slide your hands up my back uninterupted by clasps. or when you brush your knuckles across the front of my shirt and I can feel my nipples harden and I know that you can feel them too.
I like that.

the flesh and radiance

I love my body.
I love the way my breasts float slightly when I'm taking a bath
and how my nipples harden in the morning, even when I'm warm.
The length of my legs used to bother me, but now they please me with their shape and ability, their strength, even the way they ache a little in the morning after we've had particularly strenuous sex.
I like the curve of my hips, and the slight dip under my ribs, the indent of my sternum.
I like the visual weight of my pubic hair, how it draws the eye and the hand, and the way the flesh it covers throbs when you wink at me. (I think it's silly when you wink at me, but secretly I adore it).
I love my hands, what they can do, but also how they look buried in your hair, or in mine.

Thank you for helping me see that. Not that I didn't already know, couldn't already see, but I hadn't thought about it lately, hadn't really looked.
I fit together so well, why is it that I find it so difficult not to focus of the little things?

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric furr, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh....And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

-e. e. cummings

Somehow that seems to put most of it in the right words. Oh, for the vocabulary of a poet... although the "love-crumbs" has always come across rather strange in my mind... toasty.

comforts

Pears are amazing fruits. They are best, I think, when they are still just a little resistant to the knife, when their flesh yields only just willingly to my teeth and then melts tenderly across my tongue.

You’ll be gone two weeks. I’m sorry I got all annoyingly clingy (did I, or was it just my own perspective that made it seem so?) the last time I saw you. I’ve been exploring those feelings a little, or rather, trying to divorce myself from the gut reaction and get to the words and I’ve come to this; I’m afraid that when you come back you’ll realize how easy it was without me. It’s happened way too many times, I keep getting dumped after travel, it sucks.

So until you get back, I’ll comfort myself with your last e-mail, and the beautiful note you gave me for valentine’s and the t-shirt I fished off the floor last weekend (okay, that could be a little creepy. I maintain that it’s saved from creepiness because we actually know each other) and long baths.

because I love you

While on the outside, it often seems even to me, that what I want is some good sex and a mind-blowing orgasm, I can’t for sure say that that is true. Really what I want, and I’ve thought a lot about this, is the comfort, the warmth, the connection. Sometimes I feel so deprived of physical contact and you’re the only place that I can get it.
Which is probably why I find watching a man shave undeniably hot. It’s strange though, is it not, that I have watched my father shave dozens of times and it has never turned me on, but fantasizing about you doing it makes me want to escape to my room for a little one-on-one time with my vibe? Does it have to do with the intimacy of such an act? The fact that you are making yourself vulnerable in those moments, that you’re focusing so closely on what you’re doing that all else is effectively closed out.
It's about the intimacy as well as the sex.