To the sweet good morning kisses and fiery nights.
Smelling the red wine in your muffled breathe while i lick your lips in anticipation. The red hot rods glaring at me from behind you as it cools our naked bodies in the winter.
All of a sudden its too hot in winters. When we are embraced in each others arms, my face reaches your armpit to snuggle and smell the sweat. Its sweaty and when i lick it, it tastes of ocean but i still love the way it feels, it arouses me.
Reaching up to your face i feel the prickly two day beard you have scrubbing my face, it burns so i move to capture your sweet and plump lips in mine. The smell of the garlics from the pesto spaghetti we had. Its mild and indulgent, almost makes me want to fill your mouth with some more of spaghetti and be fed from you.
Going to more intimate regions i smell the hunger emanating for her. So i lick and suck the sensitive zones which makes you hiss and moan. Caressing the bearings under them i plan to throw you in frenzy. Want to make you want me more.
When you caress my back with your hand, resting to pick and squeeze a bone you find. Crossing my hands behind my back just to see the protruding bones you picked on a while ago. I hiss and tell you to stop. You shower me with kisses.
"I imagined you in that short dress, how sexy you looked" you say. I smile like i can see what you imagined. You curl a little more harder around me as if the imagination just turned real.
Your face, the marks and memory etched on them. I touch them and ask you the stories. Listening to them i am transported to that time where i can see as you go on unaware of the future, of the future where you would tell me all about it.
Barging into the room, you are singing same line of the song again and again in a cheerful and ecstatic tone. You have come back early from work you announce. I look at the smile on your face, it seems to be spreading all over you.
"When will you come back?" i ask and that is enough to make you distraught and cold. I want to take my words back because i feel like i committed a crime too grave. But its too late and your tone is condescending and behaviour is stolid while you give an answer appropriate in your mind for a crime like that.
The things are thrown around everywhere in that one room we are present. It's all too messy. I am careless and clumsy. Breaking a glass, the china bowl or that coveted bottle for storing water. I make a mess everywhere i go.
Simmering the milk on low i want to cook that sweet dish with dry fruits and tapioca pearls, after all you haven't eaten all day and kept fast. Just the way you like it, with no sugar and thickened milk.
"There are other things besides food and sleep, why don't you explore it?" you ask. "I do want to do that" i reply back. Not too convinced with my reply you glare at the mundane and monotonous way your life seems. I become a burden to you with my affirmation, making you realise how i am fine with just the way the things are.
I am a liar and a procrastinator. But i am also a lover and child at heart still making out the head and tail of life. I want fairy lights, dreamcatchers, wind chimes, random and obscured photo of ours hanging from the rope pinned with a clip, bed made of wood crates, three sides of wall painted with white colour and one side painted pitch black, i want to lie on the cold ground with you in summer nights sharing a glass of chilled cocktail and watch the night turn into morning. But i have habits and expectations which dull all that i want.
And all remains but nothing.
