Tongues dancing in heated mouths with fire and burning and
yearning.
Arms, hands, and fingers perform the ready task of yanking,
caressing, and holding.
Moaning.
Soft. Short. Breaths.
Struggling to catch air, but eager for more.
A touch, a kiss, an impromptu, unplanned encounter.
No prior intent, no plan, no premeditations.
Falling victim to corporeal desire, after years of
suppression.
One night. One kiss.
Lead to more.
Feelings? No.
Feelings are for the weak-willed, I say. You agree.
We fall
into this effortless groove of physicality. It feels right.
It feels good.
Like we’ve been doing this for years. Hardly.
Platonic relationship: witty banter, coffees, lunches, no
more.
Talking. Always talking. At a distance, with a table, a
chair, a bed, space
Between us.
One night. One kiss. No feelings?
Lead to more.
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