spilled water. Visited each roundness of her body. Danced without stopping to millions of pores, as would I, so enjoy exquisite tour of strokes. Your skin is transformed into lights senses and your breasts like two verses that adorn the most beautiful poem of love reborn Contact erect before my eyes. Before we see her bathing in a frenzy of lovers we owned. What began with faint kisses and several glances followed undress. When we take off our clothes become necessary to each other. Coupling our sexes inside and tasting touching intimacies and secrets, our souls were one.
drops keep rolling. To light frost and shine as it seeks to dry with a towel not realizing that my gaze is focused on each and what they are capable of. Seem silly, maybe that is for some who do not exploit the real-time true love, but I, I love her, I have the belief that if I look enough to the water droplets that cover the skin of those I love I can see in them something more than his soul. Seem impossible, especially when I recognize that serene view exploded just after passion is the gift of his infinite soul that swings me.
In every drop I see his soul shining, free from obscurities. Perfect to imperfect. Eternal secrets stored in pores. Fragments of his mind and heart who refuse to understand that love me as I love, in despair, vehemently, with your whole being ...
I see naked and wet, the drops are silver, fire and dreams. I ordered the drops I be the slave of your fantasies ...
The towel, a piece of cloth was charged with destroying my astral contact with his soul! No, wait. Drops are not the only communication, there are his eyes. They've also seen water. Shed drops due to misunderstanding of God destination. But his eyes are wise, and in these I am, loving and being returned ... No matter what happens, every part of him reminds me that love and that there is nothing more important.
The universe is recreated: Outside it's raining, the drops are still flooding in every key and every neuron. I repeat his name over and over again while I bite my lip, remembering the passion and love me just the path chosen by the drops falling from his hair to his feet, my tongue envy the road and my hands are willing to follow the route map that forget to go through it again assured as soon as possible, as soon as needed ...
Outside is raining, inside, inside is a storm that does not end ...
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