Long(ing)

I’d wake in the morning and trace the delicate lines of your neck, your collarbone, with my soft fingertip, exploring; the play of light and shadow beckoning me, imploring me. Then my lips would follow in reverse, gently gliding over your skin. Your head would fall back in my hands, and I’d softly kiss your neck once, twice, three times, and slide the very tip of my tongue up toward your ear, where my lips had just been, and gently ever so gently take your earlobe in my mouth, between my lips, my teeth, kissing it and gently sucking on it, and back to your neck I’d kiss it more firmly, your head still in my hands, silky locks of hair playing through my fingers. You’d moan. I’d back away, looking you in the eye, full of desire, and smile. Our lips would meet, drawn together ravenously, but we’d kiss with some restraint, our lips brushing each other’s in a get-to-know-you-again-dance, and then I’d latch onto your bottom lip, ever so gently sucking on it, tugging on it, then I’d take your top lip in mine, if…
…if I even knew your name.

Longing

Jason Ed Collins