Ameliebx

I'm afraid of the night; the hours are so long and my bed is so big.. I only dream of you in conscious moments, but not in my sleep. And when I wake up, suddenly I reach out to you, and I can't find you. You come back in my mind, and your absence is fear, loneliness your silence. What is the use of the angle of the open thighs, what is the use of the double curves of the hips and breasts if you appear only as a shadow in the shadow, if only my idea and my desire imprison you? I don’t want to do as much as you should, my hand lacks voice and breath my hand lacks voice and breath, and the rite of silky touches, unexpected or new, I miss your sweat, your groans, the mystery of what you have so often created in my flesh, and which seems always so current, if unpublished. When I wake up and we are I am an orphan and you are absent, when the hunger for sex shakes me with tremors, and screams me of desires, I am afraid to do it, because it is never deeper, sad, painful, the loneliness that then then embraces me, that crouches me, that overflows in my night, as if you were only a mirror.

Your skin, drumming under the rolling of my hungry and surreptitious fingers of my hungry and surreptitious fingers, your skin, open to gentle exercises, your skin on my itinerant skin. My skin, penetrating and surrounding, looking for arcanes, my skin that learns all the trades and exercises them in you, overflowing. Your skin, my skin, two superimposed planes, partly identical and partly opposite, various pieces of intimate attire. Your skin, silver galleon loaded, my skin, pirate ship sweeping launched at full sails for boarding.

It was between the first and second round; broken strength, numb sex in a nest of sheets waved in a convulsion of loves and desires. I did not allow her to lower her eyelids, which, when closed, cause isolation. I didn't let them sleep, and they didn't want to sleep, as it is bad to love without being awake. The ticking of the clock in silence, and the time still in deep sleep, next to me, naked, and alternating my hand slowly from one breast to another, her green eyes made love to me, penetration of the soul, not of the body; without spasms, without gasps, without sweats, with the serenity of mirrors, which send back the image, immutable, and which, at the same time, keep it inside. He made love to me by looking into my eyes, in an intense sensual immobility, without gestures.. What a burning mutual possession, what a sexual delight, sleepy sex.

no, that's what I'm missing to raise money to settle my old job A kiss of bold knees, wet lips, voluptuous, impudent hand, trembling fingers, slowly undressed figures. A kiss that requires many lives to exhaust its fond amoureux, dedaigneux des affections nébuleuses plus orphelin d'épérons than of brides. Kiss that I've made for many years of ways, lengths and sizes that no one could deserve. I bring this kiss to you, absorbing, curling, expansive, irreverent, because I know you'll answer it.

Deshabille-toi à la lumière, si lentement, that mon désir tente de t'aiguillonner, et qu'en découvrant à moitié chaque partie de moi je dois retenir l'élan impatient. I was born in the middle of the night.. Chaque pli est un diable irréverent qui découvre et cache, sans te montrer dans sa splendeur totale, et je dois jouir de toi dans un lent processus intermittent. Every pli is an irreverent devil who discovers and hides, without showing you in his total splendour, and I must enjoy you in a slow and intermittent process.. My eyes must turn into a hand that, pushed by the ferveur païenne, will tear your chemisier from a dry blow.. And in return, we'll lose our limbs, and we'll fall from our knees in convulsions..

I will kiss you at length my animals loose in the interior of your senses loving you in your entrails like splinters of light I will kiss you I will cross your sky I will go into your branches I will circulate in your liquids I will emerge from the bud of the bark of your trunk I will feed from your garden Your voice in the hills and the immense fields as you thought them Your animals loose inside my senses Loving me in my entrails as certainty as fruit as a sign of territory Your voice in the hills and the immense fields under this purple sky this delight or cause in the middle of the rain in the middle of the ocean because your tree takes root in the middle of my belly and this earth lives you in the beginning and the end.

The memory of my body remembers you, the memory of my spirit yearns for you; what memory could it be that cries for you in fear that your love may be lost?

Wake me up like this, with my body creaking with my desires in turmoil with the promise of your return with the essence of our desires, with the hollow of your smile with your unheeded pain, with the profusion of our agonies Afterwards, I will know how to savor the solitude of my hours, those that do not understand clocks, knowing that I keep within me all your wet memories.