Him

It’s evening and the house is quiet. It’s a strange cruelty how she longs to feel him as clear as a running brook. This night, she dared to let her fingers wander where she would want his hands to linger. Though she was alone, she imagined him watching her from the shadows. Not with shame– no, but with reverence. With hunger in his eyes that said her body was not merely flesh, but something sacred.

She moved not with haste, but with desire. Wanting to know the steps to his dance she’ll never learn. When she found that sanctified place within her, she said his name, softly, into the folds of her darkened bedroom. Oh, how she wished he could hear her.

Surely, this is a sin to seek him this way. Letting her own hand play the role of his absence cast aside. But if so, then let her burn. For it is him who sets her ablaze.

She aches for love. Not just for touch, but for him