I think of him every so often
His skin under my touch
His fingers weaving into mine.
I think of him
His breath coming quickly
As he drives into me
Each moan a rising crescendo of passion
I think of him
Pulling me towards him
A short lived moment
My breasts in his hands
His body weighing me down
I think of him
and my muscles clench
Every so often
Perhaps too often.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem