Till death.

I like when she crouches over me.  Her breasts against my leg, the soft ‘lump lump’ of her heart against my skin. She takes me Inside her mouth. Like she’s savoring me.

And I think yes. That’s what I want forever.

Just to be savored. To be important to someone, needed, mandatory.  To be irreplaceable. Like an art exhibit, or an Egyptian mummy. Something precious, priceless. Essential, some thing you need to be careful with.   I can still feel the slickness of cum on her hands.  And her groan? All it does is invite the torrent of cum that pumps down her throat. Her hand pulling in time with her mouth, and the thrust of my hips, as if I’m tripping and tripping until I gush into her mouth.

Squirt after squirt and she doesn’t even react, doesn’t even bat an eye. As if this, this has an all apart of the show my friend, and she moans against me, and swallows all of me.  She deeps throats me as I’m still cumming and I grab the bed and hold on as all my nerves are on fire, I gasp out her name, as I fondle the back of her head. I feel her crouching over me. Hot, glorious, wanton. She squeeze out one more drop of cum and licks it off the head of my cock. Just this. Just this with you. Please. Not just this. Always amazing, the best, no complaints, like at all. That said…just this honey. Just this soft rapture. This longing for brighter days, but truly just this, just this throwing open of drapes, of opening windows. In my heart and head and yes there. Like you know that scene…in the sound of music. Where she’s up on the hill, singing. Twirling around in that dress. The hills are Alive. And I think, mm, if we got our hands on those hills. Well. But that’s how I feel, and it is precious, she is precious.

Sometimes I like to watch her bake. I feel like it’s my very own cooking show. Measuring and flower and we try something new. But I like to just sit and watch her. Watch her worry and fret and figure and season. There is something divine being in her bubble sometimes. She is the only background noise I need. And then there it is. Just this little bright thing. Made of probably too much, well I daresay just an extravagant amount of fat. I would shudder to say it’s probably not good for you at all. Drop dead right after you take a bite oh, oh no. But we do, we go take that bite. You fuckers. And you know what it’s is buttery, delicate, we dollop on some cream, because my women doesn’t fuck around.

Or when she cooks. She is a precise person. That is probably why her dinners turn out perfectly and mine are happy surprises, or not palatable at all.  But I like to sit with her hustle and bustle. Watch her solve a problem, or just enjoy the process. Sometimes I help. Others I watch how her hands touch the pots, her hips as she leans over the sink. How she picks her apron, ties it tight, not too tight. Lipstick probably on, hair done to cook dinner.

we flirt without even trying. 

Every moment is this add up to this inevitable sinking to the hilt inside her. To this ageless moment of being close to her. Yes we can fight and argue and bicker and everything else but can we just do this all the time, as much as we can, because you are absolutely perfect. You are. Every bit of you. I adore. I am not saying no one else could see your beauty, or your exceptionally rare intelligence, sweetness, kindness. Yes people could see. And I hope they do. I hope they see you. And then I hope they see you walking home, and walking Inside our house together, without them. I will grieve for them as I have my wife bent over the dryer in the basement.

I wish I could have met you, well, so long ago. More I just wish I could have been there through it all. By your side.

Time. Jesus. It always comes back to things you cannot change. Stuff that stays the same.

I wish I had known…No, I wish I was yours. Forever. I don’t know man. Like I needed to be your teenage baby scare. Like I would have loved every version of you. Every one. Like I want us getting close for a long time. And just never getting sick of each other. Just live. Be, enjoy, and so lovely. We can still bicker. But that flame we carry can be decades.

I wish I had met you sooner. I would have love to have fucked you through the decades. To feel the hardness and softness of you. The darkness of you, Into just the sweetest bless your heart smile. Your smile lights up my day. Your smile is my adderal. I swear to god, my day gets better walking towards you across a crowded room. And I can see the moment you see me.  Your precious face lights up and I look at that, man. Always that. To have that face light up to see little old me? I’ll take the whole box. I love you. Heart and soul. Like rain and sun. I love you. I love you. Like a double rainbow or a unicorn. But meaner. Sometimes. But maybe unicorns are mean. I’m not sure. But not mean, feisty. Like you could set me on fire or make out with me.

You are my keeper, my protector, my mirror, and my Love.  I couldn’t ask for anything more.

Well, more time. Always.

More sweet times, quiet times, more silence between us and contentment. Like the sweat of all these nights and days string us together, like this great beast of the sky made of stories and…and light….just…just so much light.  We are good people, we just aren’t very nice. But together, well. Together we can cut a rug with the best of them.

She is my matching heartbeat. Like cells that get to close to together, magnet turning on there own the spark between as they clash together.

I love to think of winning the lottery with you. Like what is that like? To just not even worry about existing anymore. 2 billion dollars. I tell Morry these ideas I have as we go and then pick our numbers. A mixture of her picking or me, or sometime…well you get the point. It’s sorta sweet, in this world, I feel like that is a lost commodity. And to have this with her. It’s not about the ticket. It’s about just dreaming and chatting. Sharing goofy ideas about what we could do with the money. Paying off all our bills but still, god, fuck off. Like no one cares about that. Yes bills but man what dream are you going to fulfill?  What place are you finally going to see? What lifestyle are you going to adopt? Are you going to be real bourgeois, or red neck? You going to squander it away on drugs and bad decisions? Or invest it in a business. Yeah we all have the same ideas. Let me guess? Food truck. Yup I know. We all do it, but I love those talks with Morry because we sit on the couch with our phones up researching, and you know what we found?

Whatever dream you have…it doesn’t take a lottery ticket. Just cleverness, stubbornness, and dedication to an idea. Sacrifice. Sacrifice is a foreign word these days. No one wants to sacrifice anything…first.

Atv’s for all your family members, yeah I’ve heard that as well, or UTV’s. I told Morry I’d get a penis extension. Just have a cadaver penis attached to my own. She said she’d still love me but it would be sorta weird knowing that a part of my body wasn’t me. Like an organ transplant. I smile into her kiss. She is clever, insightful, and lewd.

We rowed out to the center and she watched us, all wind swept hair, and hands across eyes.

Little one’s kayak makes thwopping sounds as we push our little boats into the wind. All I hear is wind as I push my way forward. Eyes tearing up, but doggedly determined.

Once we are out there, Morry is a little dot on the shore. We wave to her. Little one plays her music and I smile. She waves goodbye to me and pushes away from my wee boat. Slicing through the inky water, off to the other shore.

I shakily turn my kayak around and look at Morry. She’s still watching and she waves at me. I wave back. I love this picture of her. Off in the distance, even here,  I can see her smile. I row back to her. Slowly, savoring the wind and the quiet as I get up enough speed that I am the same speed as the air around me, and all become silent, like the eye of a hurricane till I slide up on shore to you. She waves to me excitedly and runs over to kiss me as I watch little one scooting up on shore right behind me. Both of you yank and pull her canoe up the shore.  Later we all listen to music  on one of our phones and eat hotdogs on the fire. They are the best. The cheaper the better.  Smoke singed, burned to a crisp, or even a little ashy on the bun but I love it. We swallow that all down with s’mores and then tea as the night starts to cool the world down.

Owls screech at us from across the lake, the radio plays softly on the night air. Little one sings songs into the night air, these songs bounce along our words and the fire and all the snaps of twigs till they become our pillows and blanket, till they become a card game with night birds that warm our soul. That light our dreams. Such is the voices of the precious anddivine. I wrap Morry and little one in blankets. They are afraid of the dark, so I sit with them while they sleep.

I’m no hero. Because survivors aren’t heroes. We come to you like shipwreck victims. With belongings patched together from all the times we survived ourselves.

I’m not a hero, I’m not anything special, but I’ll fight for you, and I’ll try for you. I’ll never be enough, I’ll never do enough, say enough, be enough but I love you. I’ll never make it time, but I’ll be here as soon as I can, always and forever.

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