Cotton

Before you leave me, before you reluctantly rise out of the tangled mess of the bed, before you run your hand along the table top, stroking the gleaming mahogany where our fused bodies exhausted their lust, before you step into the shower recess where you bathed me with the drops and the steam, with luxurious suds and your sensual caress, before I pat you dry, my lips brushing along the path of the towel, kissing each hollow of newly washed skin, before you dress and adorn and piece yourself together once more, each stitch in its rightful, sartorial place, I want to slide into the crisp white cotton of your shirt, my body engulfed by the fabric spectre of your imposing form, I want to bury my nose in your collar, envelop myself in your heady scent, I want to radiate into the weave my own warmth and perfume, the sweet aroma of my flesh, I want to glide its opening through the pouting lips of my cunt, staining each thread with the heat of my desire, leaving behind an indelible mark of my craving, my need to have you over and again.