A promise of tenderness, the link between ideas and realities. Looking at it from all sides, I get all sorts of ideas.

Jealous of her hair, lucky to be caressing her at will. From the right the left, up and down. All over that skin.

I want to smell that skin in the morning. Before the world of others has seen it. I want it to be my rising sun, my tasty croissant. My reason for raising those eye lids.

Look up, I want to shout, let me see what you're hiding. Let me roll my lips, twist my tongue over it.

Let it be my last meal, my last wish.