In a white cotton battlefield, I realize my enemy isn’t you.

… and then I imagine that it is you – I think of you, I hear you, I dream you – even you are not the one who is fighting me tonight.

.

when your nose caresses my neck, my skin smells like expectation,

when you mark furiously my breast with your teeth, my skin smells like desire,

when you ride me and grab my hair, my skin smells like anger and lust,

when your breath blows near my sex, my skin smells like impatience…

.

I am wet, and it doesn’t stop.

I thought l had enough. I went the extra mile and I fought my enemy hard until I exhausted my muscles and I got sore. I didn’t want to stop. I wanted to make your ghost disappear. I though that would be enough.

But I was wrong.

.

Thursday morning, licking my battle wounds, you are still there – stronger, brighter, more real, more powerful then yesterday, and then the day before.

.

I am still green, unripened, not ready…

.

.. or maybe I got it wrong again,

and I am now more ready than ever.