A fever has me in it’s grips. My skin burns as hot as stirred embers, yet my blood runs cool through my veins. I sweat and yet I shiver.
In spite of this, it is not water, nor medicine I crave, but the touch of another’s flesh. The feel of soft curves curled up beside me, the sight of long smooth lines glistening in the moonlight.
Closing my eyes, I trace the line of her body from the tip of her ear down, ever so happily down to the base of her perfectly shaped hip. I crave a woman. A woman in all her glory. Perhaps that is the only thing to heal me.