Starting to get an idea of how this journaly thing can work for me. I miss the glorious feelings and images that their love story brings me...

long, slender fingers
sliding down
over, around, beside

soft, pliant shoulders
sinking back
on, against, into

cool, hungry lips
burning with
of, inside, like

hot, pulsing cells
coursing through
in, between, up

hard, waiting limbs
quivering near
to, until, past

brief, stolen fury
racing by
from, beyond, now

Garbage? Maybe. But little by little I'll exorcise the demons. Annie, are you out there? I think I *really* need some of that good stuff tonight.