It’s hard to talk about sex,
and as married life has proven,
equally harder to do it.
Life gets in the way,
mortgages that swap companies,
the unwanted grind.
There we were,
While the duo went screaming in circles I announced,
“Let’s talk about sex baby…”
without a rhythm to my delivery.
Knowing all well that you would pick up the beat,
you complied and delivered the remainder,
“Let’s talk about you and me…”
You lit up,
and let your defenses down.
I need to control this conversation,
like I want to control you.
“I miss you, I miss our intimacy,
I miss the taste of you and how passionately you excite.”
You sat there,
stemless glass of red almost complete,
“I need to feel your lips on me,
I need to feel your firm strokes,
I want to lick my fingers clean after making you squirm.
Let’s suck on each others sensitive spots,
make them nice and hard.
I miss getting all hot and bothered with you.”
I pause to let you take another sip,
adjust in your seat,
and look at me,
even more red in the cheeks.
“I want to wonder as we always do,
if the bedroom doors are closed,
so I can make you whimper loudly.
We installed sound proof walls,
so that you can vocally approve of my deep thrusts,
my attention to your details,
as I steer you through your helpless highs.
I want to finish in you,
I miss laying next to you,
as we slowly come down,
and regather our senses.
Enough so that we can slowly shuffle,
our way to the steamy shower.
I miss how we used to clean each other gently,
and care for each others sensitive spots,
just enough to encourage,
Wine is gone.
You’re silent and breathing deeply.
I’ve since leaned back and adjusted my excitement,
over my right thigh.
has what I said made sense?
Where do we go from here?
Then the duo comes crying back into life,
“He took my thing and it was mine!!”
and arousal is gone.