Here I am wishing I could quit you.

And not be kept from my sleep by the thought of the deep of your voice whispering sweet nothings in my ear until everything disappeared except you, and your mouth, and my moans, and my skin, and this bed and the sins we committed in it. Sins make it hard to quit and I’ve asked God’s forgiveness for wanting more of that sublime torture you put me through.

But my flesh has trouble forgetting you.

Especially when I’m fresh out the shower and I’m warm and I’m wet and I’m clean, I remember how dirty we’d get together. And sometimes I forget forever wasn’t really forever and my mouth forms around your name like it did when I came for you so many times before. Sometimes my back arches of it’s own volition and I get to wishing I could feel your fingers take that trip up my spine just one last time.

It’s a struggle to recall that you aren’t mine.