Member-only story
I Can’t See Through Your Fire
Because it’s so damn bright
I Can’t See Through Your Fire
The citizens in my constituency, dear Asha, love me, and rightfully so.
I keep them informed via a regular bulletin where the theme is your incredible beauty.
Your body fits like the proverbial glove: tight, firm, yet supple.
You question the relevance of my statement which said I love how smooth your round parts are — I need to always be touching them.
It may be an indirect way to describe my passion, but it is every bit the truth.
I’d eat every vegetable on my plate if it meant not having to be discreet about my feelings for you.
Your pretty head wears the crown, a Pharaoh of the tallest pyramid, while I am stuck down here miserable when you’re not touching me.
I’m pretty sure it’s constitutional to have my feelings for you, but you say don’t make a career out of it.
You may scream when we’re making love, that perfect tension a nod to subtle way of our shared consciousness.
I don’t have any desire to be democratic about my love — I wish you would refuse or at least delay your pleasures on any other man.
