Rip Tide

How am I supposed to ignore this ripping pain inside of me that wretches needing to be with that special man—the one who deserves me—who knows me--to have hot sweaty breathy, passionate sex—kissable knuckle bending, hair grabbing, sigh giving, licking and liking and loving the moment, tasting the scent of him and loving just that and being glad that he is a man and you are a woman—loving that he wraps his arms around you that his jaw line is strong and that you can take your tongue and slide it gently along that ridge and then find his lips once again to tease him and nibble his lips till you part yours to find his tongue and begin to suck his and make sure that he knows you will not let go breathing his breath in an out until your breath and his are one and the same with your bodies pressed so tightly together that neither of you are able to breathe very well so that you have to roll on top of one another back and forth until you become a puzzle that intertwines and slips and slides like seaweed on the shore trying to find its place on the sand and in the sea--the fluids of your bodies mixing until you rush deeply into the night when no one is sure where he begins and where you end floating over and under each other until the morning……….