Sir,
It's all consuming. What the fuck happened? What is going on? What are we doing?
I was minding my own business — and you walked into my life — and now I'm hooked, cooked. I'm royally fucked. You're not helping.
I can't get any work done. Too bad there couldn't be a worst timing. I need to get so much shit done. So many projects flying in the air. And an interview process in the middle. And then… YOU.
You as my first waking thought — fucking wild. I'm still mostly unconscious but you're here already. I mean, did you ever leave?!
You. You replaying in my mind. Your words, your laughter. My feelings. But then, you again. In the back, in the front, in all my mind. You for breakfast while I skip it. You for lunch, you for dinner. A quick relief while I connect to a work meeting. And then… YOU. Your jokes, your questions. Your answers. Your laugh, here and there again, echoing. My weak knees.
You, everywhere. You, anywhere. Yet you, nowhere.
Excuse my french, but what the actual fuck, Sir? Why kind of sorcery is this?
I need to get you out of my system — but I'm afraid the only way would be to consume… YOU. Let you consume me — wholly, fully, entirely. Let you burn my skin with the tip of your fingers, burn my insides with the tip of your… Damn. At least your fingers in my hair, your fingers in my mouth, your fingers in my… Fuck.
Man, we should never meet — I'd jump any boundary — totally out of control. It would barely be my fault. And I probably wouldn't even feel sorry about it. Without the "probably".
Don't get me wrong — it's not just lust. But man, that's definitely on the menu. So, could we maybe start with dessert? Please, Sir? I'm begging. Just to have some peace of mind, just in case the world ends unexpectedly.
I wouldn't want to miss that — I wouldn't want to miss… YOU.
Come get me! Take me. Claim me.
Y/yours.