I miss you inside me.

Every time we sleep together I want to kiss your mouth and taste your breath. I've fantasized about your thick fingers pinching my nipples while listening to you lap up the wetness between my thighs. I've missed your words in my ears telling me to cum on your dick then slapping my face. The beauty of you cuming unexpectedly is the crescendo to my ascension. I think of your hips crashing into mine while I masturbate in the bathtub. I think fondly of you enjoying my pussy and the noises she makes for you when you are teasing her with your tongue and fingers. I've thought of you in me a lot these past few months. 

  I've thought of you romantically. Traveling the world, eating food, fighting,  debaucherous nightlife,  painting the town Black. Maniacally laughing at the cemetery in our wake driving the bus into hells canyon. Riding you in the backseat of a moving vehicle listening to cello concertos orgasming on its crescendo screaming obscenities while you drive your thick cock into my spellcasting chalice. Nights are a playing ground and the days are the collection. Into a verse televised drowning the archaic voices stuck in their pandora. 

 And, when I wake, there's a clash of emotions dropping from places only dreams can touch which puts me in a mood of some sort to reach out. The tub bubbles disappear. Beads of sweat corral on my top lip. The completion and unsatisfactory release only want the real thing. I miss the light fragmenting your true eye color in the morning. I miss your ever-ready hard dick in the morning. I miss the moans and jerks in your sleep while you hold onto my pussy for comfort. I miss you.