I Want To Make Love

Troy Freyee
Troy Freyee

I don’t want to “fuck,” I don’t want to emptily screw a stranger, I don’t want friends with benefits—to somehow leave my heart at the door and collect the broken pieces when he falls asleep, his entire body turned away from me for fear of seeing the sunlight on my face.

I want someone who is turned on by my mind, my laughter and my ability to see poetry in everything. Someone who will fix their eyes on mine, and guide me as if taking me on a voyage to the stars. I want to make music together- every moan, every breath, every whisper of laughter like a sweet symphony filtering through the air around us. I want a beautifully choreographed dance, our bodies moving without thought, gliding and caressing and swaying together, a dance meant only for us.

I want someone who will look at my body as if it is magic, who will trace my curves with their lips and leave bruises of lust pressed to my neck. Whose fingers will dance over my skin as if hypnotised by our love, while I drift to faraway places, carving desire into the arch of his back.

I want passion so intense I can feel it throughout my entire body, like I can see into the most hidden parts of his soul and to drown myself in them. I want to discover and explore without uttering a single word, letting only our ragged breathing to talk for us.

I want to lose myself in the feeling of our naked skin pressed together, touching with lips, the tiny pads of our fingers and listening and learning with our hearts.

I want so much more than just sex, the mechanicalness of it, the harshness, the fumbling hands and closed eyes in the emptiness of night.

I want to feel the moment our souls collide just as our bodies do, I want to experience our love in a way that cannot be spoken nor written nor sung, a way that can only be shown.

I want to smell him on my skin the next day, to run my hands over the places he lingered, where he looked into my eyes and I knew the thoughts running through his mind, and smile to myself. I want to lose time thinking of it, of him, of us, of our journey to that place teetering on the edge of perfection before we came falling back to reality, whispering words of pure ecstasy against his ear as we chased each other into oblivion.

And most of all, I want those moments just after, when the world shifts into focus again and we lay entangled, our breathing slowing, our eyes connected and our hearts racing like the wind.

I want to make love. TC mark

Rose Goodman

Writer, Daydreamer, Coffee Addict

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