When love has cooled,
It is the little things we miss.
The feel of your naked breasts pushed against my back.
Your hand caressing and resting upon my hip.
When you tug my hair in play, or with darker intent slowly scratch my shoulder.
Our legs in joyful entangle, and our feet locked in wrestle.
When I kiss your neck the way you arch towards me, and squeeze my hand.
We parade the act of love making but it is not the whole.
It is my lover’s touches that I cherish.