If I lick it—it’s mine.

Or actually and rather—you’re mine.

Sorry, but I’m not that sorry—I’m not going to play by the rules this time, not that I ever did.

But, this time—all bets are off.

I’m going to be a million things at once, and most of the time I probably won’t even give you a chance to catch your breath before I take it away again.

Although I’m the one often left breathless and stumbling for the words that usually flow so easily from my hopeful lips—yet in the spaces between us, something catches and I’m left thinking of nothing but pressing my lips against yours.

Maybe that’s all that needs to be said.

I will seduce you within an inch of your life simply by being the woman that I am—yet before you can even blink, I’ll be doing something so ridiculously childish you won’t help but to laugh at me.

I like it that way.

I like that I don’t have to be just one side, or one person—because no one has ever seen the sides of me that you have.

You peel back each layer slowly, tasting and showing me just how much not only each side is safe with you, but reveling in the contradictions and freedom that my soul creates.

I’m bare feet dancing in the kitchen, the smell of pot floating in the air and homemade cookies baking in the oven. I’m Parisian lace, and my old favorite t-shirt with a hole in the hem.

I’m fast cars, and Sunday afternoon naps—I’m freedom yet loyalty.

I’m not a newbie at this life, and although I’ve taken the slow road, and every detour possible—I still know that where I am now is exactly where I want to be.

And although I’m not lost, I have no idea where that is because there is no map for this.

My fingertips could whisper sweet secrets dancing upon your skin all night, and still I don’t think you’d know everything—not that I think you’d mind, because it seems you’re in love with being left wanting just a little bit more.

A little bit more time.

A little bit more of lips pressed to each other, and hands pulling with urgency at clothes that only stand in the way. It’s about a little more of sweaty laughter and the honesty of our life that we spill to each other under the incandescent sun and luminescent shadows of the somnolent moon.

It’s amazing that even though life may change and whirl around us—certain things just seem to be a constant.

Because somehow nothing seems to exist outside of these private walls for us, not that we want to hide in the darkness of shadows, but venturing out into the eyes of the world means that I can’t kiss you here—and touch you there—or lick you from here to there.

And though I could spend countless hours over the course of sleepy days barely dressed or walking, enjoying every inch of you and the moments that happen between your eyes and mine—it’s not just all there is.

Because this is about something more than sex—it’s about intimate play.

These are the moments that happen languidly, the quiet conversations and the laughter, the undressing, the kisses and the jokes. It’s the moments of us that have always seemed to exist regardless of what we did to help or hamper them.

I’ve lain awake at night under the ripe full moon trying to figure it out.

Trying to rationalize and make sense of this—but the only thing I’ve come up with is that maybe the very best of things are just simply unexplainable.

And while I don’t know what tomorrow may bring, and with it possible new challenges—I do know that this will always be there.

I’ve realized I’ve never had a lover who was a true friend, someone whom I could share the muddy details of my day and the realities of my life with, and know that it was all okay in the end.

I don’t have to worry about hurt feelings or the pettiness of jealousy or insecurity, because there just isn’t any room for that within our world—you’ve taught me that honesty is never overrated.

Sometimes underneath the quiet of the stars I silently wonder if I had to travel along my journey just to find my way back to you again.

And though I still say if I lick it—it’s mine.

The truth of it is that it’s yours too—long before there were others, or even the thought of them, there was you.

And maybe once you’ve been truly claimed, there just isn’t the room for anyone else to try and conquer what has already been taken.

I’ve said that I will ruin you for others, but the truth of it is—you’ve ruined me as well.

And while there hasn’t actually been a beginning, there was never an ending either.

Because maybe, just maybe—some things aren’t meant to have an ending at all, and while promises are futile, the possibility of tomorrow lay waiting for us.

If we’re brave enough to go after it—and each other.

Relephant:

Dear Lover, Give it to me Dirty.

~

Author: Kate Rose

Editor: Travis May

Photo: Flickr/Sarah Robinson