Tuesday, June 17, 2008

Letter

I'm writing:

Dear, nights are so cold.

I dream, covered over my head, in the mist of breath, how, with my eyes closed, under the blanket I search for the soft fleece of your crotch. You greet me, hot and salty, with crown of your scent.

I wake up in sweat, firm and confused. I search for you in darkness within too long minutes, unwilling to admit I know where I am.

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