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Like sand between my fingers, you slip into me night by night, feeling your presence without touching me. Your breathing becomes real in me, for you are not part of my dreaming, nor the obsession to have you for another night.
You come with a slow walk, to the rhythm of my own breathing, and you wake me up, taking over my nakedness.
You love me as you please, and the taste of my skin satisfies you. I live the intense pleasure of knowing that you are mine, and between the two of us we invent a place in every dream, so as not to wake up from this shared ecstasy.
You are the fire that ignites my body, the storm that whips my soul. You are the sand that slips through my fingers and the ocean that envelops me in its waves of passion. In you I lose myself, in you I find myself, in you I rise to the highest peaks of ecstasy.
But, like the sand that slips through my fingers, you leave me, leaving me the humidity of the sea on the shores of my feelings.
That damp trace is the only trace of your presence, the only proof that you were not just a dream, but the reality that inhabits me at night.
I long for the moment when you come back to invade my bed, to slide over my skin like waves over sand. I long to feel your weight on me again, your warm breath caressing my neck, your fingers running over every curve of my body.
Because you are not just a dream, not just a passing obsession. You are the mistress of my desire, the mistress of my pleasure, the mistress of my heart. And even if you slip away from me when I wake up, I know you'll come back, again and again, like the tide that recedes only to return stronger.