This ten years of conversation only tickles the depths of our wanting. I dream of your tongue rotating moonbeams on my thighs, our skin damp with the ecstacy of rhythm. I want to kick open the celestial doors to lovin and swallow you whole, gasps rippling from your mouth as you grip my cheeks. Our suspiring cries to be abolished, set aside, stomped down with the orbs of deep open dreams. Imagery swirls on echos in your head as you touch, while words bounce off my body... This ten years of conversation only barely tickles our fancy, and simply aggravates our raw, swollen longing. I want to swell in the moans of your fantasy.