What We Want
2003-11-25 @ 8:59 a.m.

That look's familiar, almost junvenile, the infantile face of desire. Lips at ease, or bitten beneath white teeth, and a tongue that licks out from a mouth that melts my skin with it's salival warmth and wetness and brings a weakness in me.

Hands that shake and shove and shatter beneath the grips of a stare or glance, and hair that's tossed and toyed and played with when one tries to speak. A chest that heaves slowly as it inhales the air we breathe out from ourselves, and a leg that jumps and jitters when it feels the signals coming from a nervous sense of self.

He's seductive in a nervousness that overcomes one when they're unsure. Uneasy, but oh-so easy. I want to take him to my bed. I'll drag him down, and rip his clothes, I'll bite his ears, and lick his neck. He'll be mine. I'll be his. We'll be no one's other.

He bites my lips... and I bite his.

I'll have him.
I'm sure.

<<before - after>>

The Weather Underground - 2008-11-12
- - 2008-05-06
She knows I can read. - 2008-05-06
William Jacobson - 2008-05-02
Lost Boys - 2008-04-30

everything © Claudia (2003-2008)