I discovered a depth of desire that will only ever echo your name.
And in this knowing, I touch my softest parts, again and again,
ever dewy from knowing the strength and tenderness of your touch.
I wait for your gaze to remind me of what was possible and what might yet be.
I open to you, flush with hope, wet with need, soft with moan.
Lover, come to me.
There are those times we need to be safe, those times that we feel safe, and the times when safety is the last thing in our minds.
Oh, I like that song you’re singing, there… play it again, Sam… I mean, Dave. xo
Isn’t that the truth… Safety, or giving it up, gives rise and flavour to so many contradicting but exciting emotions…
I’m sure both of you can imagine, or even – recall that.
Ah, memories and imagination… potent potions, indeed.
But do the memories endanger safety or reassure of it? The past – memories – are irrevocably written; the imagination is where the uncertainty exists.
I’ll take the imagination and what is to come instead of the memories.
Mmmmhhmmm. Sometimes we have a tendency to balance precariously on that line of safety, don’t we?
I sense you’re referring to something in particular… if so, yes… I feel that we do.