i adore it when he calls me
sweet things like—
moon/lyght/myfuturewife
but when he smiles &
says: “elayne.”…
it’s akin to warm wind
whispering over my wet
bare skin…
it’s equivalent to open
mouth kisses being pressed
against the small of my
back… & i lose track of
coherent thought…
…i actual-ly get lost
somewhere between the
movement of his lips
& the desire to
dip the tip of my tongue
in(to) the indentation that
denotes the dimple in his
right cheek… you see…
a rose by any other name
would smell just as sweet...
at least that’s what Shakespeare
believed… but i want
myman shouting
“elayne.” when he’s moving
on top/beneath…
…inside/behind me
now!… THAT **** is sweet!
(& i know you feel me)
…got me on my knees
sangin’ ha’mercy choruses of
“please… babybaby please…
…say my name!
say… my… ****… name!”
& i ain’t even ashamed
‘cause thisLove thing is
stronger than pride
& besides… i can’t deny…
i love the way he says “elayne.”.
© Nefertiti Days 2002, all rights reserved.