Do you ever wonder just how well you know the person sleeping next to you? It’snot always sex that makes a scene erotic.
It’s cold, my steel-though I caress it lovingly, cup it to my cheek. While holding it so, I can hear the succulent screams longing for release, and I savor them with eyes closed. I know every nick, every crevice, each millimeter of the paper-thin edge. The handle has worn to fit my fingers and no others. This is my blade. This is my mighty dagger. And you will know it, too-more intimately than me, and I am envious of you.
I’ll lay its full coolness against your chest and watch the ebb and flow of each breath; rise, fall, rise…fall. So peaceful, so quiet, so precious you are to me. I’ll trace the soft underside of your jaw with my blade’s exquisitely pointed tip. As you turn away, I am compelled to connect the dots from freckle to freckle on your shoulder-but lightly-just a spider’s web bejeweled with crimson dew. I am overwhelmed with visions of the luscious parting of your skin in the singing wake of my beloved razor’s edge.
But tonight is not for you, lover. Tonight, I will lay my steel aside and watch you for a while, let the heat of your body soothe my pains, quiet my visions, and carry me to join your slumber. There will be other nights. Sleep well, my love.