The smell of your leaves

The sleeping bag is sticky against my skin and I can feel the grease in my hair even without touching it. I just want to get out of the tent and I know I’m not going to get any warmer but it’s the good kind of cold, because it smells like a new beginning, like whatever you’ve done in your life until then doesn’t matter, like it doesn’t exist, like you don’t exist, like you know no one and you don’t need to find a reason every morning.

I wonder if you’ve left the tent with the same feeling a touch earlier today. I wonder where you are. One day I’m going to be the first one to leave, I think....
I do get out and the world has been awake the whole night, I can see it in the dead colours, like the time stopped for the humans to catch up. I walk between the trees down the little hill, the leaves crack under my bare feet, and it hurts but only slightly, it’s the good kind of pain because it feels like I don’t need anything. I get the urge to feel that needling throughout my entire body, on every inch of my skin. Will you add the weight of your body for me to feel more like I need you?

I see you! Can you see me? I do lie down. I know you can see me now but you won’t smell me because I am under the wind, like a coyote firm in realisation of something that it can’t overpower. I close my eyes and open my legs, dry leaves tickle my thighs, your fingers sooth my sore skin. You moved fast, like a jaguar, paws so big but light on the claylike surface.

Your tongue gets inside me, and it’s wet and soft and fluid between the flesh, I can almost taste you from down there and I know you’re sweet because I can taste it in my mouth now, it’s like a reflex any time you are around. You just keep exploring me, drinking of me until nothing is left, until I am nothing and only then I can cum and drip what’s left of my body on your dry autumnal leaves.

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All cried out

I can smell you, I reckon it’s... eight in the morning because of how the light reflects on the ceiling. I know you are not next to me because I can’t feel the pressure on the bed. You’ve left the usual scent of coconut, and something else, maybe it’s just how I perceive you, maybe it’s my sex on you, or yours on me.

I could write and rewrite this story thousands of times and I will always find new details to it, new perspectives, new ways of describing how much I still love you, and the way you pulled your hair up with millions of bobby pins that would never fall out. You probably have long hair now… but I’m not gonna check.

I can smell the coffee too, are you making it for me or for R.? Or both? Maybe he is not around. I hope he is not around because I wouldn’t know what to say and how to say it. I will meet him in the corridor later on and he will smile at me and look away, a bit of a paternal smile, the one I hate and still regret hating because it keeps confusing me when it comes to dating older men. “He knows” I will think, and that evening he will leave some chocolate and wine for us to enjoy. It should be a sweet gesture of acceptance, or forgiveness, understanding even; I know it is but I can’t stop feeling like it’s his way to get a little bit in between us. We don’t drink the wine, nor we unwrap the chocolate.

Instead... we fuck. The lights are dim and your body is the most surreal thing I’ve ever seen and felt and tasted. The way you move, the way you breathe, how your hands make my body stretch and tense up with the slightest touch. How quick I cum! Your tongue is precise, swift, the pressure is so perfect, and your fingers inside just do me right. I’ve never felt more natural, it’s never been so easy. When did it all become so complicated?

“The secret ingredient to sex, is love”. It’s you.


Cheap coffee and a smile

It is a slow kiss.
We lie in bed, cuddling and not hiding that this is weird, but it’s ok because we’re high.
He rests on my lips like that, this is so much more than if we were moving. We are still. This is happening.

Micro explosions in my brain. This is what happens when you kiss the impossible, I think.

I always sit on the bus alone, unless it’s ridiculously full; no one will sit next to me. I’m a bit intimidating, a bit too pretty but not easily categorizable.
I thought I was this for him. But here he goes with a slow response to me chinning up, he surrenders his lips to my tongue and does nothing about it, he just feels. I’m doing the thinking tonight.

I turn my back to him, he pulls my leg up and pushes his body against mine. My body knows he is inside but my brain is still registering the kiss as it’s reverberating through my skin. I hear myself moan and I think it’s just my intoxicated blood crying its way out of my throat because I know tomorrow morning I’m gonna be washing his smell off with cheap coffee and a smile. And that’s ok.

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