He was a curious lad,
       with a broad chest and strong shoulders.
        His eyes were a deep brown,
        his jaw line sharp and defined.
        He loved action,
        he also loved adventure.
        But most of all he loved to run
        his hand along my legs,
        making me flush in all his
        favorite places.

Midnight rains are nostalgic.
They make me realize
that I am not the only one
who is crying in the dark.

The gods are too.

The kind of letters we write
are ones that are written
with a light touch.

Your hand wandering
in between my legs,
while making my hips twitch
with pleasure.

I enjoy many things about you.

The three undone buttons on your
white collared shirt.

Your collar bone peaking from behind
the strips of fabric.

Your large hands and messy chocolate hair

It always happens,
when you are not around.