Perched upon her ear, I sit, forming whispered words, on heated breath; to rest upon, and in her. Like a slow drip, born at the nape of her neck, every syllable shall caress her soul as the pilgrimage traverses the subtle contours of her body. My kerosene laden tongue shall drop Molotov cocktails into her subconscious; igniting an uncontrollable fire, that will slowly consume her rational thought, and leave her begging for my touch. A touch that will be denied, until her flushed skin weeps tearful desire, and the intoxicating scent of shameless sin overwhelms my last remaining shred of resistance. And so shall begin an extremely long night.
