(Re)Call

This body, this relentlessly craving, whimpering body, it calls to you, calls for you, night and day, day and night, through the light of the sun and the beam of the moon and the soft tick and the deafening tock, it calls and begs and pleads for you, for you and your hands and your touch, it whispers, it howls, it calls to savour your lips, it calls for a taste of your kiss, it calls and recalls in a dizzying and ruthless act of remembrance your face, your eyes, your mouth, the sweet rumble that brings me to my knees, your body, your body, you, you, you there and here, you then and now and soon after, facing me, beside me, pressed sensually, firmly into me, hovering above, spread out for our unbounded pleasure beneath.

This flesh, this skin, this feminine suppleness, this subtle warmth turned blazing fire, this breathy, sultry song, this cunt, my cunt, your cunt, the cunt belonging, the cunt longing, the cunt pulsing, swelling, blooming, shining bright, it weeps its want, it drips its desire, it instinctively pours its honeyed pungency fusing silk and satin and lace to this ache, it calls, it overwhelms this space, this place, this room, hoping to find you, hoping to steal you away, to lead you back to me, instinctively leading you by this imperceptible thread, guiding your hunger awakened and unsated, bringing you to my fair, lean legs spread wide, hips pushed deep into the bed, the crisp cotton already listless under the damp heat of my lust, my breasts heaving, nipples hard and darkened peaks, one arm stretched taut grasping, grasping, reaching for the blood and muscle and bone and hard, urgent fleshly throb of your seductive force, stroking the slick, stroking your thick uncut cock, the other nestled along the curve of my arching form, its hand, its fingers parting my folds, circling my nub, two fingers familiar sinking right in, two fingers transformed under the darkness of your gaze, two fingers fucking, two fingers crooked, fingering, fucking the streaming depths of this sex, fingering, fucking with vigour and strength, fingering, fucking, my body on the brink, my body shivering and frayed and torn open, released to you, exposed, bared, in screaming shreds.

This woman, this woman of appetites primal, of sensual yearning, this woman in the glass, this woman that is me, she calls to you, she calls for you, though her language deficient and incomplete, she calls for you, I call for you, for your mouth to feed and mine to swallow, for the tangle of limbs and lips and tongues, for the body of man, for his flesh, for the flesh, oh God, your flesh, for the hard and muscular, highlighted with shadows of curls wiry, for the masculine in scent and line and tone, for the infinite possibilities you inspire, for the possibilities decimating all rational thought, for your love making on a rainy, winter’s afternoon, for our clothes tugged aside as we fuck against the cool of a wall, for the alleyway and movie theatre, for the car speeding down the straight, smooth, glowing highway, for the insatiable hunger that thrusts, that binds us together, for my slight body astride, my thighs tight around your torso, your pulsating shaft parting the lips, nudging the portal of life, your meat stretching and perfecting the velvet so willing and tender, for the moan, for the groan as you fill me to the brim, for the bodies in sync, in rhythm, in dance, for the sounds of my rising and falling, rising and falling and slipping under your spell, for your dominance to sweep and assault, for your hands to force and grind this cunt ever nearer, for your hips to slam and pound the climax clear and blinding right out of us, for my hands around your head bringing you closer, closer, ever closer to the want and the need, to these sweet, whispering lips, to the mewl and the breath and the pure, base affirmations as I come, as you come, as we come, as your seed and my glisten, as your man and my woman become one.