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Description
His figure is blurry, trembling from the waves of heat that lick my body like fiery tongues. Through my eyelids i see him dressing up, glancing me with gratefulness and a hint of contempt.

As he opens the door, i can't feel but thankful for that sudden breeze of his departure, lifting the covers and cooling the incandescent cotton altar of sin we just shared.
I look at my fingertips, where small drops of sweat seem to form, denouncing the recent intense bloodrush.
The sheets cling to every curve of my body, covering my pores with wet guilt.
My hair, freed from his grip, stick to my back and forehead as i desperately gasp for the moist air.

Now, alone, in a room with no trace of his presence, I remember the warmth of two wheaten helitropes between the arms of my muse...
And for a brief moment i feel my skin soaking with her perfume and sliding onto hers with the cocunut milk poured on my breasts, under the black waterfall of her curls and her emerald moons lighting up my night.
And i long to sink in that enamel lake between her legs and quench my thirst from her stream, as she drowns her last sigh between my wet lips.

But a persistent sunray slips through the blinds and nails my thigh, while my blood still boils from his burning breath, his chest firmly pressing mine, his eruptive relief burning my innards, and a numb disappointment shrouds me, like a child whose biological experiment failed.

Heat makes silence more dense and i feel i'm choking already from his sweaty scent running down my neck.
And there's nothing else to do but get in the shower and let the frozen water, like myriad dewdrops from her eyes, wash him off my body and sink his existence into oblivion.

Description
His figure is blurry, trembling from the waves of heat that lick my body like fiery tongues. Through my eyelids i see him dressing up, glancing me with gratefulness and a hint of contempt.

As he opens the door, i can't feel but thankful for that sudden breeze of his departure, lifting the covers and cooling the incandescent cotton altar of sin we just shared.
I look at my fingertips, where small drops of sweat seem to form, denouncing the recent intense bloodrush.
The sheets cling to every curve of my body, covering my pores with wet guilt.
My hair, freed from his grip, stick to my back and forehead as i desperately gasp for the moist air.

Now, alone, in a room with no trace of his presence, I remember the warmth of two wheaten helitropes between the arms of my muse...
And for a brief moment i feel my skin soaking with her perfume and sliding onto hers with the cocunut milk poured on my breasts, under the black waterfall of her curls and her emerald moons lighting up my night.
And i long to sink in that enamel lake between her legs and quench my thirst from her stream, as she drowns her last sigh between my wet lips.

But a persistent sunray slips through the blinds and nails my thigh, while my blood still boils from his burning breath, his chest firmly pressing mine, his eruptive relief burning my innards, and a numb disappointment shrouds me, like a child whose biological experiment failed.

Heat makes silence more dense and i feel i'm choking already from his sweaty scent running down my neck.
And there's nothing else to do but get in the shower and let the frozen water, like myriad dewdrops from her eyes, wash him off my body and sink his existence into oblivion.