Becca D

April 1, 1998 - Tennessee
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My hipbones are a cradle, begging for his every wanton intention
My lips are a prayer, blessing every one of his ribbones
My hands are magnets, drawing him closer, locking to his skin

His breaths are my motivation, their taste in my mouth, their echo in my ears
His knuckles, tangled in my hair, make my head light and heat pool in my toes.
His fingers slip across my skin, oily trails of fire, igniting us both.

My moans skitter down his spine and his whispers dance over the shell of my ear.
His shoulders are my purchase; the hollow of my neck his sanctum.
He is all of the mountains bracketing my body and I am the ocean sand slipping through his fingers.
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