mortal

You rested your head on my left shoulder. I felt you at that moment, smelled you even as the scent of cinnamon mist invaded my air. That's the same irresistible scent that used to make me want to swim in your velvet hair.

You sat up straight, leaned forward and captured whatever little space was left between us. You set your laborer's palm at the back of my neck while gently stroking my hair with your free hand.

I got a little tense and buckled up as I didn’t come for that. I guess I was terrified because you've always had your way with me. You knew this skin too well. You've memorized every curve, every line and every sinful yearning it has that screams everything other than virtue.

When those moments seized, when you’re whispering sinful sweets at my ear, when you’re showering butterfly kisses on my neck, I usually find myself battling furiously against fortress of clothing, nibbling hearts and hands or gasping for scarce air between fissures of sheets.

Certainly it was no divine inspiration that could have led me to virtue. Like those who are bold enough to admit their mortal desires, I too, have mine. I'm more of a saint than a sinner, but when I sin, I sin gloriously shattering the grandest of heavens and raising the depths of hell.

To sin was easier as those plain walls and steady corners are the only ones who could witness the collision of us stars. You were there, alone, with me, in a fairly dim room with closed blinds and shut doors. I never sin half-heartedly, and so if I fall, I will fall willingly.

Just the thought of it reminded me of carnevale where people in masks were free to touch and be touched or a pagan festival where tempers and temptations openly flare against the dancing fire.

Yes, you gave me the courtesy of waiting halfway, but the inches between our kisses seemed farthest than ever. All the carnal spirits urged me to compensate the moves you've taken. "Why do I need urging to do this? I never needed urging before," I told myself.

With blood rushing through every vein, I slid sidewards trying to avoid touching and feeling things I already touched and felt before. I swiftly reached for my jacket, checked my keys and motioned to stand away from an ever welcoming cushion.

As polished as you’ve always been, you flew in front of me, snatched the jacket and cornered my already agitated self against the wall. For a minute there, I was elated, impressed even as you knew what you wanted and knew how to get it.

I like that, others being in control I mean. I am often on the driver's seat, and so I embrace losing myself and being taken by something or someone.

I didn’t move because an attempt to break loose would only heighten things; I knew you've always had a thing for resistance. Without throwing any caution in the wind, and like your life depended on it, you leaned in and whispered “Was it alone time you were looking for?”

©Grace Ramos