Bleachers

All I need to hear is your voice…
Your face, inches from mine…
Your hair, close enough to breathe in…
Your curves, within such easy reach…

Ah, but your taste… that which I crave like none other…

Every inch. Every depth.

It's all I can think about when you're so near…

Leaning in on those hard-af bleachers, your lips just there… your voice, that I want to make sing…

Or later… Positions reversed… just lean back, and you would have been in my arms…

I imagined it a million times, a million ways in those few minutes… you leaning back, between my legs… head coming to a rest on my chest as my arms cross your belly… smelling your hair again as you settle in to get comfy…

These little moments of small intimacies… constantly run through my mind, every time we're together.

Every glance, every breath, every word unspoken…

Baby… When it's clear, so abundantly clear to me…

Right in my arms is right where you belong.

And I don't know if I intend to resist much longer.

Yours.