Poetry · Writing

Come

Strange.
I still feel you next to me.
Butterflies in a frenzy in my belly.
The smell of you on my pillows.
I can still taste you.

Your touch lingering on my thighs.
Lips following suit.
Fingers tracing patterns on bare skin. Slow and deliberate.
Savoring the flavor.
Adding it to my memories for later.

The pain of it all.
The ecstasy of it.
The violence of it.
The neediness of you.
Come back.

5 thoughts on “Come

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