Darker than the swoon of sin


Her lips touched his brain as they touched his lips, as though they were a vehicle of some vague speech and between them he felt an unknown and timid pleasure, darker than the swoon of sin, softer than sound or odor.”

James Joyce


I wonder whether you miss your fingers caressing the lace at the top of my stockings before you bring yourself into me with that urgency, and freedom in our lust that we created between us.

Do you ever think of how and how I got so wet just by one look from you. No other man had that effect on me like you did.  I used to sit on top of you with my knees brought up high which felt so good and close, and come over you when you demanded me to.

Do you still ache to see me drop to my knees and kneel at your command before taking you in my mouth and loving and adoring every second of it like no woman had ever had with you. You twisting my long hair around your fingers with every push deeper.

Do you still smile at the pleasure you had in doing, feeling, taking and giving whatever you wanted with no boundaries, no judgements, just pure desire for each others body and soul.

Even if our love was darker than the swoon of sin.

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