Your eyes, My Poetry

Chapter 1

It starts with a kiss on the forehead. You can't help but close your eyes and just feel. Feel the moment out before you become caught up in it.

Before you can punish yourself for the consequence and just after you cross the emotional threshold.

There is no turning back.

Even if you don't give in physically, you have already been fucked emotionally. His eyes have already won. There will be many losers. Much collateral damage. But you haven't gotten to a moment of regret yet. His lips are just getting started.

The best kiss is the one that builds as the clothes come off. Wine gets better with age, but kisses get better with anticipation. They get better when they mean that things will never be the same. My heart stood still, as did the kinetic energy around us, and then there was that last moment. The last moment of fear before you are forever lost in him.

14 years in the making. Beginning with the moment I walked into his classroom as jail bait. I ventured off course and got married to someone other than him. Had a baby from someone other than him. Made a happy life with someone other than him.

I remember the night before I married my husband, I had to convince myself that it was the right decision. Not because I didn't love him, but because I was afraid that maybe this moment would come again. And I knew that I would struggle with it.

I knew if Carter wanted me, and came for me, and looked at me with those eyes, I would give myself to him. I allowed that loophole in my vows. I would forever be faithful to my husband, unless...

It's not that I am easy; never-mind the fact that Carter has the presence to make any girl easy. It's not that I haven't grown in the 10 years I have been apart from him. I have. But aging and growing wiser hasn't diluted the power of his stare. The depth of his words. The pull of his scent. Age has only enhanced it.

Carter knows me so well. He identifies with my fears and comforts me through them. He hears what I speak, but listens to what I don't say. He is the only man I have ever met that could have his hand in my head well before having his hand in my pants. The type of man that undresses your mind quicker than he does your clothes. Matter of fact, on this night, my panties were the last thing to drop.

The room was ice cold, the AC blasting 60 degrees of cool air. His warm body made for contrast. We mixed together. His naked skin. My naked skin. The intensity of our love making as well as the cold of the air gave rise to a body full of goosebumps. He glided his fingers across my chest and my nipples grew. This was an invite for him to taste them.

As he sucked, I locked my legs around his waist. I smelled his hair. He smelled of a fresh haircut and aftershave. In the morning, his smell would become my smell. Once again, there will be evidence that I belonged to him, no matter who I decided to create a life with.

I realize now that I can never stop loving him.

Even when he isn't around, my mind never stops loving him. My body never stops loving him. My pussy never stops loving him. I never stop.

So we make love through the night. Making up for the many nights our beds didn't include each other. Touching every inch of each other, and finding a lost memory from a time we touched that spot before. Finding familiarity, even in fresh scars or new wrinkles.

He was especially interested in the line on my belly that came after child birth. Fascinated by the fact that I was a mommy now. We exchanged stares and he told me he loved me. I thought briefly about the baby that I lost. His baby.

As Carter returned his penis inside of me where it belonged, I thought about the life we could have had. How things might have been different if I never had miscarried. I thought about how happy we could have been if I would not have gotten married and instead waited for us to be together again.