insomnia

you lay there my lover, in front of me, in my big brass bed. sometimes I fantasize how you'd stare at me, lost in contemplation, my lover, with this glare i met when you first saw me as a friend.
black eyes are burning my soul.
I can't sleep.
Maybe a tea will help. I put the little black silver camping tea pot that my dad gave me before I left on the stove.
I hear the water boiling. Slowly, boiling away. Just like my saliva and my peace and my so bitterly needed sleep.
I can't sleep.
I toss myself around in agony, just to itch a little closer to your body, emanating this sweet bitter almond scent that haunted all my dreams while you were gone.
Four months.
And I can't sleep.
What is that noise? Shooting or a display of fireworks?
You touched my legs when I put lotion on after my shower. Then I crept into your arms like a child seeking protection. It felt like a nest and I was the bird, perfectly fitting.
Then your hands started to wander, burning little holes into my skin, leaving traces of hot glistering and blistering and red-orange shining lava all over my body. I held your head, your hair, with one hand and the other tried to cling onto reality.
Will this kill us or end in a display of orgasmic fireworks in our mind, body and soul? We shuddered and stopped in the middle.
Softly my lips found your skin and your mouth found the round of where my neck merges into my shoulder. It was so close and ever so soft. I couldn't help but say I love you.
Why?
I don't know, I just do I said.
Why did you ask me, my lover?
I can't sleep.