I don’t want to be your forever. I just want to be someone that you remember, a casual affair that was somewhat of a core-shaker. I want to be that someone you occasionally have fond memories of, and who you secretly fantasize about when you are married, at your desk, secretly entertaining the possibility of a naughty rendezvous.
I want to be the one that your mind wanders to when you do.
I want to be the subject matter of your day dreams. I want you to recall how good I made you feel and how nice it was to include me in the anatomy of your smile. I want you to remember how sweet I tasted and how good I smelled. I want you to remember how my scent lingered on your sheets and how such sentiments made you reach out for me even when you knew I wasn’t there.
I want to electrify your senses and build myself into your hard wiring. Condition you to always want me even if I am an impossibility. I want to always be your torture, tantalizing you with the promise of seduction never fully realized.
I want you to cherish me in your memory as you reminisce in the morning over coffee, brown bag lunches and inadequate husbands.
I want to be the one that ruins you for anybody else.
I want to be that tough act to follow that made your toes curl just from the sincerity of my touch. I want you to include me in the things you think about when you cum, a reference to refer to when you are in need of sexual inspiration. I want to be the catalog of your arousal, the co-writer of your ecstasy, the canon of your orgasm. I want you to cum just from thinking about me. I want you to feel my fingers trace their way all over your naked places. I want desperately to be the only reason behind your primal body scream.
I want to know that I left a lasting impression and that I won’t be included with all the rest.
Although it may have only been one night, I want to know that you will always think of me as the best.
It would kill me to be forgotten the same way it would kill me to be your forever.