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I miss the feel

 

     I miss the feel of sleeping next to a man. Just to know he was there beside me made me feel safe. I liked the touch of a hand, or a gentle brush of a leg against mine.

    I miss the feel of laying my hand on his chest just to feel his heart beating, to feel his chest as it rose and fell with each breath.

    I miss the feel of laying my leg over his; I loved the way it felt lying next to him that way. I miss the warmth of his body. The way his hair brushed against my skin. To have his arm under my head and have him pull me closer.

    I miss the feel of soft gentle touches as he lightly rubbed his finger across the bare skin of my shoulder. To have him whisper into my ear and feel his warm breath against my skin.

I miss the feel of taking the tip of my finger as I softly touch his warm lips. I miss the feel of the tender kisses; feather like caresses and whispers in the dark.

I miss the feel of my fingers lightly rubbing the hair on his chest, ever so softy, back and forth, making light circles around each nipple. Trailing down the center of his chest, down lower, slowly, softly over his stomach, past his navel, stopping and making little circles around it. Then slowly lower, down to the top of the waistband of his shorts. Back and forth, slowly, softly as we drift off to sleep.

Yes, I miss the feel.
An original poem by
Angie