I want to kiss you here. And there.

I want to kiss the small lines of your body (to start).

You trace the nape of my neck, softly—so soft that I can barely distinguish between your lips and your in-between breaths.

Our bodies are electric—charged and full of heat. I want to kiss you there. I want to light up the whole damn street as I kiss you there.

I want to explore the expanse of your chest. Slowly. And then maybe faster. I can feel your anticipation.

I want to kiss you there with half-parted lips. I want to kiss you there in our ruffled sheets. I want to kiss you there in the places where our limbs are knit together.

I want to kiss you, and kiss you. Lower and lower.

And then you’ll grab my face, and we will start all over again. I want to kiss you there.

I want to lick the sweet, soft part of your ear. I want to feel your body and the bed tremble with joy. I want to kiss you there.

I want to kiss you there, in that place, in the witching hour.

I want to kiss you there until the Earth splits apart. I want you to kiss me there until I am split apart.

Until my skin is buzzing and warm.

I want to kiss you there. I want to coax every song of pleasure from your throat.

Yes, I want to kiss you there.

It’s like we are enchanting each other over and over again.

I will sweat for you. Terribly. Because I want to kiss you there.

And it will be a wonder.

Our lips will crash and bring the world to its knees.

So, come here, darling, I want to kiss you there.