There’s nothing quite like painting a pearl necklace around you at the climax of our lovemaking.
Since you’re such a prude, I’ll call it a rosary.
I’ll take a pen to your skin.
I never expected to write on a canvas this veinous and muscular.
Blue looks good on you.
So does your nudity.
I prefer blue ink on you than green.
Green won’t do since we both have lost our innocence.
Whispering a last hurrah between your hard thighs was what excited me.
Both pen and tongue travel down your goody trail to hidden promises below.
The murmurs and giggles my tongue evicts from your mouth leaves us both wet.
Our love story’s denouement turned out to be a festival of just lust and sadness.
I loved you a little too much.
And expected you to feel the same way.
It used to be: He is everything.
It is now: He was everything.