Old Flame

In your absence, my thoughts they flit, To the pulse you’d probe, the fire you’d lit. Memories of fervor, with each gentle nudge, Your touch, your rhythm, I couldn't budge. Against the wall, I yearned for your grasp, Deep dives, sultry whispers, in passion we clasp. Teasing, pleasing, with audacity so bold, Without a moment's pause, our story unfolds. Rising to the climax, in your embrace so grand, Guided by your whispers, by your firm hand. Trembling, quivering, to your fingers, I cling, A symphony of pleasure, to which our hearts sing. Your gaze upon me, watching the crescendo peak, My hues of passion, the satisfaction you seek. Every shiver, every sound, under your spell I fall, A vulnerable display, as you witness it all. Yet in your wake, my fingers they trace, Echoing your touch, at the same fervent pace. On thoughts of you, I find my release, In recurring rhythm, I find my peace.