#327695 - We have time only for a glimpse—I of your trickling reservoir and a patch of soft, downy brown, and you of my well-rooted tree in a burnt wheat field—and then we almost slam our chests together in a frenzy of kissing and groping, I cupping and stroking your breast bumps with my hands, you massaging the insides of my thigh, teasing your way closer and closer with each stroke to an area once forbidden to you. The afterglow now fading as well, I am still careful not to disturb you from your most desirable state of utter relaxation as I think to look over at the clock on the shelf beside the bed. Mostly I've just been slurping at your lips wherever my own happen to land, and you've been doing the same.