The Novel-less Novelist

4am Love Song

I will never say these words to your face:

I felt something.
I felt something beyond your tongue on my throat, your hands on my hips, your hardness pushing up inside me.
I felt something else.
I felt like maybe I knew you.
Like maybe the first time didn't necessarily have to be the last.

I stood outside on the concrete step, wrapped in only a sheet, watching you drive away. I didn't wave, I didn't want to. I just leaned my naked shoulder against the post and watched the stars instead of your brake lights. Unseasonably cold for April, I saw my breath in the air and felt the chill of a gentle wind prickle my skin where not long before it held the heat of your stroke.

I could have asked you to stay. You would have stayed, I think, if I'd asked.

I didn't.

I don't do that. Not in a long time. But tonight my bed feels empty. I can still smell your aftershave on the pillow, lingering like our goodnight kiss.

Goodnight or goodbye? I said neither. I merely licked your bottom lip, kissed the corner of your mouth, squeezed your hand and moaned when you brushed my breast with your fingertips.

That said enough.

It said:

come back
be in my life
do that again
don't let go...

don't let go.

posted by Jay @ 4:00 AM