I thought about you,
craving your silken touch.
I was shaking,
fever raging
from my desire for you.
I imagined your lips,
delicious and warm,
and my body trembled,
unsated,
needing your touch.
From my window,
there was a speck of a blood red moon,
which only served to remind me of you.
I closed my eyes,
needing rest,
yet I thought of you still.
My desire won out.
I could taste you on my lips.
I was dreaming while awake,
hungering for your kiss,
recalling images of fingers
exploring hidden places.
The passionate nights fled
without a visible trace,
but left a trail of fire.
And still I thought about you,
pressing gently into me,
wanting my satin touch,
the brush of your hair against my neck,
a mere featherlike caress across my flesh,
yet a tempest unleashed.