I want to inhale you.
Not the stale scent of your cologne,
which clings so valiantly to these old shirts, no—
I want the sweet scent of your hot breath
when you whisper promises of sinful seduction against my cheeks,
when your 5 o’clock shadow trails goosebumps over my skin,
and scorches me from within.
I need the salty scent of your slick skin against mine
when you pin me to our sheets and grind
your hard body against my soft unyielding curves,
the smell of my desire and your strained self-control.
I want to bottle the essence of the moment
when my perfume and the tantalizing exhale of your groans mix in the air
and create electricity,
sending shock-waves with each thrust.
I need you—I want to inhale your aura
as you lay between my soft thighs and
drive me to the blue-flamed precipice of lust
again, and again, and again
unaffected by the stinging of my nails digging into your flesh—
I want to inhale you as you follow me into that blissful abyss.
I ache for the exhaled scent of my cries melting into your moans
as you fill me until I can be filled no more.
I long for the musky scent of our love-making—I long for you.