whispers in the morning hours.
on the bed i lay, face buried
under a pillow so as to drown my
escaping moans.

and i spread my legs wider
as i let my fingers glide down
to the wetness you have worked up,
hearing you breathe harder and harder,
stealing my breath away.

oh how my fingers become your tongue
as you roll it up and down, flicking it lightly,
making me writhe under the covers.

then my fingers become yours,
as you push them deep inside me,
twirling them in circles, and spelling
your name.

i moan again, like a drowning siren
in a sea of cotton and lace.
and those fingers, mine or yours,
thrusting faster and harder.
my face is covered with my long,
wild hair, making it even harder to breathe.

oh, i love Sunday mornings..

i wake up just to go back to sleep.

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