Permeate

It's the way I lick my lips, like I do this all the time. Stay moving, connected,

talking, like I know what I'm saying. All interest and expertise; all hand-gesticulations

and charisma. Gemstone rings catching the light on each long, brown finger. Your

words trigger resonance in my lower abdomen and like soft, guttural moans in pleasure,

I release the "mmm" crawling up my throat. I nod with presence, into you;

feeling you, and you tell me you love my eyelashes. I smile inside because I've heard it before,

like the ricochet of my beauty bouncing off the mirror and back into my perception of myself.

I'm probably ovulating. In fact, I am. My inner summer's heat wants me to strip and

impregnate this temple. For now I start with the flirt, subtle and direct, like the

windswept brush of Spirit's voice. There's something slippery about my sexy.

Something soft about my strength. There's a way I have of breathing the meanings of letters

strung together so you believe I breathe the truth. To be honest, it's not much.

Just the deep, searing, allure of fire; flames so bright even you can't not see yourself.

When you go home, you'll feel the difference.