Burn To Ash

Dear Lover,

I miss your lips that spark against mine. I miss your ravenous heat, your hungry mouth. I want everything. I want your love so badly that I imagine it from all the men I meet in a day; the mechanic at work, the construction men who are rebuilding at the mall, the innocent smile exchanged with a stranger, the man who moved away.

I’m looking for my Henry Miller. The one who will love love and love fucking me and love writing. Or something. I’m looking to rediscover passion. Look me in the eyes when you fuck me, make love to me. Kiss my lips and hold me close. Ease into me so slowly and make me ache and beg for your hard dick, slick in my pussy.

I ache for a kiss that hasn’t happened and may never still. I ache for a passion that will consume and possess us both with it’s intensity. Where are you? When will I find you? I feel I may have missed the boat in this lifetime, but leave a message and maybe we’ll meet up in the next one.

I’m trapped in my own skin, a demon of lust scraping to get out of me. I want to fall into your eyes, into your heart,  to give you my everything. How can I live without you? Without what I need from you. How can we be so long apart when all I want is for you to wrap me in your tender arms and stare into my eyes and tell me all the secrets of our soul.

How can any person settle for less than an all consuming passion?  How could I have done this to myself? All I want is you, I need you.

I’ve made my bed and now I’m turning in my grave. I’m forced to endure this soul-searing passion all on my own and it’s burning me up from the inside. Would we handle this together? Do you burn as brightly for me as I do for you?

Whisper in my ear and tell me that you love me, that all you’ve ever wanted is me, that you’ve been waiting. Tell me you’ve been waiting to find me, waiting to push yourself into me, waiting for our love.

Hurry up and find me, before I burn to ash inside myself.

I’m waiting for you, Lover. Hurry, quick.

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