Rain

I am ashamed of myself. I pursue you when I know the natural order of things is to be pursued. I can't help it. Dark and heavy rain clouds can't help raining. I can't hold back the flood of passion I feel.You, who stretch out endlessly before me as a parched landscape I long to rain down torrents of kisses upon.

You torment me with your form. I could have been serene but you sought me out and teased me with that virile tumescent flute. Knowing full well there was no time or opportunity to release me from my cage of longing, you stood seductive and strong. Then you left me. I felt like the last note had not been played, an unfinished symphony.

I fondle myself, angry with frustration and loneliness. These fingers should be your fingers, your lips, your ardent love. They are not. They are the masturbation mimicry of the memory of you.I wish you would come to me and set me free. I am so ready to be persuaded. It would not take much to make my back arch up and illicit soft groans from this warm throat.