It’s something to be said,
When your man was just interviewed on TV and he’s calling you on the way to another meeting, from the TV studio,
Just to ask how your yoga class was and to tell you he loves you.
Every fuck was fireworks.
I still bite my lip from having to control the sparks that run up and down my spine, onto my scalp, and warming me from within when I think about our sex.
But when you play with fireworks, you get burnt.
I say: Truth be told. When I see a good-looking man in a well-tailored suit. I appreciate the craftmanship. Then, I think about frantic hands removing that sharp suit, lips and tongues dancing, heated and wanting bodies pressed desperately against each other.