Am I the last of the unconventional love letter writers? If so, I’m leaving my final summer breath on the page.
And I’m leaving the flame asparked, leaving it aglow until the very last tide crawls ashore. Our love-making last Pamper-Her-Friday left you voiceless, fatigue-ridden, so utterly hapless that you swore it would have to close our summer–your body simply couldn’t take the waning hours of summer’s final solstice.
But you didn’t say goodbye.
And I couldn’t allow the lantern to go fireless. The suckle imprints I left on the inner thighs have refused to let us go. It wasn’t exactly biting my endeavor last Friday nightfall–consider them tongue-teeth-tease-so-determined-to-please skin kisses lacking all semblance of conscience.
The bikini, I realize, had no business finding itself left helplessly atop the sand beneath our feet, begging, no, demanding my trunks for company. And the Robert Mondavi sirah bottle swept away by the ocean’s night rush.
I wasn’t attempting to persuade summer to extend its stay, truly, I wasn’t. I had no clandestine, ulterior motives throughout my artful performance last Friday. Honest. Your fragrance had me. Your toes (wow, did the gods sculpt those?) tagged me. Your succulent lips, woman, they bagged me . . . up and swallowed me intermittently like summer melon journeying coolly, sweetly along an esophageal landslide to utopia.
I’m no culprit to your lingering bandit thoughts gone wild. At least not intentionally. The pulled hair and spanking dare were not of my premeditation; was it not you who voiced the need for intensity or were we captive to summer’s most naughty wishes?
The Friday before, and the ones prior, from early June to late July to September’s last exhalations, don’t let them cloud the days ahead, don’t allow them to misty your anticipations and expectations of fall’s new season.
Don’t take summer’s unforgettable and certainly unregrettable play-making, breath-taking, sax-awaking morning and midnight intimacies into the season’s change.
What was is what was–beautiful though it shall forever be.
Summer has announced its goodbye, my love, taking me in its tide out to sea. Extraordinary is what we’ve shared this summer. But if the last kiss has been shared between us, I can’t help but leave a flame at your feet to symbolize that which burns in my heart still. Summer’s end has no capacity to douse this internal flame, woman.
If, by chance, you find the lamp still aglow and you’re not inclined to dim it lifeless . . . well, perhaps it will signal in its sparkle across the ocean, it will usher in what we both feel burning in our collective heart:
A Romance in Autumn . . . .
Pamper the woman . . . to summer’s last breath. -Rg2
© 2014 Pamper-Her-Friday by Rg2®
Next week: ‘A Romance in Autumn’ by Rg2, Volume III