I eat strawberry ice cream directly from the container – without guilt – clothed in nothing but light pink undergarments, containing rose-colored nipples and a glistening, ruby slit.  I set them free, letting the breeze in the air and the cold, sweetness sliding down my throat summon their attention.  I wrap a shimmering scarf – the color of ripe, juicy watermelon –  around my neck, which blooms from light to deepening shades of blush as the ghost of your kiss ignites a firework of unfulfilled desire.  My cherry lips silently pout their want for the salt of your skin.  And since I can’t touch you or taste you across the distance, I will send you this…and bid you goodnight.

The Lustful Literate

The Lustful Literate