The Sadness of waking up alone.


I woke up from a deep REM sleep this morning to a throbbing morning wood. It made me sad for how long its been now without a steady lover, over three years.

I remember earlier times awakened to the gristle throbbing urgency of it, yet the warm soft body of my woman lying next to me. How I’d drag my scruffy cheek across the side bulge of her breast as I slid by flat hand out over the expanse of her soft creamy belly, down over her mound to then lightly pat her there in rapid succession. The dreamy cheek circling the side of her to occasionally scrape across her tight antenna nipple, to the rhythmic sound of a one-handed Tabla solo with a feather, listening for that sound she makes.

To then see her knees come up and fall away like a pair of wings.

Her lips poofing up, to give them a few final wet smacks as I roll over to kneel in front of her. Licking the palm of my hand before I reached down, staring her in the eyes, taunting her knowing she can’t keep from darting away, to the sight of me handling myself. To place my thumb against the back of the head of it, guiding gently, my outer peace yearning for her inner peace, to become one peace which contains nobody but her and I.

Descending into her, to lean forward and breath my nose breath onto her nose, lips not touching, knowing from how she told be once, it’s like waking up hungry and then to her delight, the feeling of having just eaten a big fat breakfast burrito, the satiated feeling of it, so grounding, the blood chemistry changing kind of peace, like warm chocolate poured over the back of the neck, where the neck is a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

To linger there in that stillness, with my pelvis held firm against hers, that peace where for just one moment in one’s entire life, everything is perfect. To have let gravity pull me down on her body, to give her all my weight, a kind of surrender I know lets her feel my trust.

As one last thought to rise up on my elbows, to pull myself half way out, to then give her three firm pelvic thrusts, as I whisper, “I. . . F#CKING. . . LOVE-YOU. Then to fall back down to bury mt face in her hair, her hand reaching around, lightly gliding over my ass cheek, finger tips tracing all the way up the middle of my spine to finally lace onto the back of my hair, grabbing me, squeezing hard, whispering back, “I. . . F#CKING. . . LOVE-YOU TO SWEAT-HEART, as we fall back to sleep.

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