While at work

As I sit here, at work, at my desk,
I close my eyes,
And picture,
Behind closed eyes,
You at home,
On our bed,
Blankets thrown back,
Shower done,
Toweled dry,
Resting.

Your fingers retraces the path,
My tongue had traveled,
Just a couple hours before,
First one breast,
Its nipple too,
Stroke, rub, caress, pinch;
Not the same as my tongue,
But, for the moment,
Me being absent,
Your fingers will do,
And then the other,
Your breathing has risen,
Become long and deep,
Your other hand caresses its way,
Down to your navel,
Your index finger plays there,
As my tongue had before,
A slight beading of sweat,
Glistens on your skin,
As one hand continues with your nipples,
Lower your other hands fingers explore,
Sliding between and then separating,
Your thighs,
Hips lift,
Begging for your fingers to separate your lips,
And use the moisture found there,
To lubricate their play with your clit,
Your breathing now has become,
Deeper, closer to panting,
And a moan can just begin to be heard,
I’m hearing those soft moans in my mind,
My heart rate has risen,
As has something else,
I lick my dry lips,
In memory of licking something else,
A few hours ago.

Your fingers do what my absent mouth can not,
As they move between, enter, and stroke you,
In an imitation of,
My mouth and tongue just after wakening,
Earlier this morning,
Your hips are rhythmically rising and falling,
Against your fingers now deep inside you,
Joined by your other hand,
Whose fingers find their place caressing,
Your clit in rhythm with the humping rise of your hips,
Matching the rhythm of the messaging, stroking,
Of your fingers inside you,
In imitation of my mouth and lips,
Now unavailable to you.

The first small shudders begin,
The rhythm of your hips is replaced by twitching,
Of the most delightful sort,
Your moans are louder,
I hear them in my mind,
Soon replaced by guttural groans,
As your thighs clinch,
Waters flow,
And you sigh,
Remembering this mornings,
Kiss,
Now absent.