Touching Me

Touching me, feeling me, needing me, wanting me, loving me.
My body quivers, my heart races, I can feel my breath catch.
With just a look, you can ignite desires that have lain dormant and seemingly unreachable.

You touch me, not with your hands, but with your eyes.
I feel them brush over my hair, over my face, feeling the rise in pulse as your eyes continue their slow caress.

Those eyes return to peer into mine.
Just a look.
Nothing more and I know what lies in store.
Desire is radiating from your gaze.
As you reach for me, again I feel my breath catch in anticipation of the pleasure to come.
Yet, still, you do not touch.

Still your eyes caress, teasing me.
I feel them as though your hands were upon me.
You have chosen to prolong the period of waiting knowing that my release will take me beyond the stars with its power.

Again, you reach a hand toward me.
Slowly, one caress upon my cheek as light as the gossamer of butterfly wings.
Barely perceptible, yet creates tremors in its wake as again I feel only your eyes.

Everything I need can be found within the depths of that gaze.
All that I want is promised as well.
A touch.
A need.

Entangled in the ethereal wisp of your desire.
Shuddering with anticipation of your touch.
My eyes flutter closed willing you to prolong our moment.
I can see even what my eyes do not.
You.

Touching me.

Feeling me.

Needing me.

Wanting me.

Loving me.