FantasyDreamer14

His hands have a habit of finding my hip bones, trailing his river like fingers along my stone smooth skin, his lips do not move, his mouth tells me stories. Mine spend their time tracing the length and breadth of his back in kisses* We travel through lands that never existed before we touched them At temperatures far exceeding in Fahrenheit If only we could understand how lust and geography make such divinely sinful bedmates. ____________________ * One hundred and sixteen