At 4 a.m., I rose to hold

His warmth against the morning’s cold.

One last kiss, soft on my lips,

Just before he left my grip.

ꨄ

Now lying alone in bed,

His scent still clings to me,

The sheets hold warmth, a fading trace,

Of where he’s meant to be.

ꨄ

A gentle pull, a tender ache,

My body stirs, yet stays awake.

Petals part, soft as a sigh,

Waiting for him, though minutes pass by.

ꨄ

My fingers drift, but they can’t replace

The feel of him, the warmth, the weight.

A yearning pulse, a rising need,

As wetness flows, my fingers lead.

ꨄ

Dipping low, I close my eyes,

Imagining his mouth between my thighs.

His sucking, his licking, every tease,

Drawing out soft moans that whisper, "please."

ꨄ

Heat erupts, dissolving the ache,

But as bliss fades, it’s clear and plain—

The longing returns, a sweet, sharp pain,

Counting down hours ‘til he’s here again.