I could feel your presence -
 passionate, intense like the eye
  of a hurricane - just outside the
                                door.

My fingers hesitated on the 
 lock for just a moment - a
   heartbeat - before letting you
                                in.

You slipped in, as silent 
 and light footed as a shadow,
  simultaneously locking the door
                               and, 

pushing me against the wall
 with your slim body. I folded
  beneath the slight pressure of
                               your

mouth, both urgent and exquisitely,
 painfully slow. My breath caught in
  my chest, head spinning with
                          vertigo. 

And before I knew it,
  you sank to your knees and
   began removing my pants with your 
                          teeth. 
                       

I approached,

cigarette in hand,

offering to share

but,

You squirmed

away from me

with a boyish

grin.

I raised

my eyebrow, arched,

a silent question

mark.

“Every time

you come near

my blood pressure

rises.”

"There's showers here,"
 I didn't think much of this information
  until I watched you walk toward the building -
   each step lingering - hope in every footprint. 

You stopped one last time, 
 at the doors of your destination
  and I could feel the glee of your 
   mischievous grin from across the field. 

I found you there, stripped
 bare and radiant in your beauty,
                        waiting for me...

There’s always something whimsical,

nostalgic, reassuring, even,

about the smell of

Crayola Crayons.

.

It brings me back to a time

of pure joy, and innocence.

.

It’s also the reason why

I liked to fuck

in his car

so often.

You were asleep, 
  laying face down
   on top of the tangled
     bed clothes.
      A Harvest moon hung
     low in the sky, peeking
    through the window shades
   and stretching its golden fingers
  of light up the length of your glorious,
 nude body. The moment hung in the salty, humid
air, like a promise of what was yet to come.