I was lost in the curve of her back, the smile on her face. I loved the way that her eyes opened wide when I came closer to her. We kissed, and our tongues touched, gently, sensitively. She tasted faintly of apples. My hands stroked the back of her neck, her shoulders, shoulderblades, and glided down to that lovely backside of hers. She smelled delightful, a subtle essence of White Musk. She was mine. All mine. For the next fifty or so minutes, anyway.
I have her total and utter attention. She, bless her heart, was pointing that laser-focus solely to making me happy. And she was succeeding very well, too. But I know that when I leave, we'll go back to our normal lives. You know the one. The life of paying bills, hauling children off to hockey practice, taking out the garbage. Rushing off through traffic to the office. Standing in line at the grocery. And that laser-focus will diffuse, scattered by the clouds of everyday life.
We might forget this moment together, lost in the flotsam of everyday life. I know, it's impossible to keep up this little nugget of perfection, this addictive rush. You do your job well, but soon after I'm gone I know that laser-like focus might be on someone else. And you know that my stroking hands might be on another's soft skin. I know that you're not supposed to care, but it's hard not to, at least a little. As much as I might fantasize for that laser-focus to be on me all the time, I know that the reality would be so different than the fantasy.
So I come by every once in a while, and we share a sixty minute slice of paradise at a time. And I spend the rest of my time dreaming about those moments, my eyes far away, a half smile on my face. I dream about a world where that bliss is lasting. Then I reach down and wipe my child's nose.
I have her total and utter attention. She, bless her heart, was pointing that laser-focus solely to making me happy. And she was succeeding very well, too. But I know that when I leave, we'll go back to our normal lives. You know the one. The life of paying bills, hauling children off to hockey practice, taking out the garbage. Rushing off through traffic to the office. Standing in line at the grocery. And that laser-focus will diffuse, scattered by the clouds of everyday life.
We might forget this moment together, lost in the flotsam of everyday life. I know, it's impossible to keep up this little nugget of perfection, this addictive rush. You do your job well, but soon after I'm gone I know that laser-like focus might be on someone else. And you know that my stroking hands might be on another's soft skin. I know that you're not supposed to care, but it's hard not to, at least a little. As much as I might fantasize for that laser-focus to be on me all the time, I know that the reality would be so different than the fantasy.
So I come by every once in a while, and we share a sixty minute slice of paradise at a time. And I spend the rest of my time dreaming about those moments, my eyes far away, a half smile on my face. I dream about a world where that bliss is lasting. Then I reach down and wipe my child's nose.
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