A Woman’s Lust

It’s Sunday afternoon,

and the day is colder with every passing minute.

Birds chirp silently in their nests as they bake eggs.

I make you some and in between giving you ’some‘,

I kiss you.

You’ve always preferred breakfast for dinner,

And me for dessert.

Jazzy melodies drench the room soulfully.

Merlot slides on my tongue while I slide my fingers across your skin,

a soft, gentle tug as I stroke your beard.

Reciprocating, you touch me gently.

Your fingers tracing my lips before pulling me in,

And kissing me.

It feels soft yet assuring,

moist and delectable.

My breathing rises as you strip me of my innocence.

With every thrust,

I feel your rage,

your hands clasped on the edges of my thighs.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

It feels warm, tingly, sharp and shivery.

I feed off your passion, your intensity,

till a cold rush of fear saturates the room.

My pretences have smeared all over the sheets.

You know me now.

You search for your shirt in my closet,

only to find the masks that lie hidden,

But this doesn’t bother you.

You ask which version of me I’ll wear today,

And I tell you the one right by the corner.