I am the dreamer and the dream. I compel talk to touch me. I am touch personified —a body of want. Wishful thinking, I think as I talk to myself in the yard. My back against a tree, it’s roots marking me. Below the moonlight on a sheet I lay, embedded in nature, my panties to the side. Sometimes I need to say things to feel them fully. Sometimes I need talk to touch me.

Whispered words escape me, faster moving fingers pretend to be his, sensual thoughts enchant me, bottom lip gets caught between sharp teeth, and I moan trying to stifle it, but I can’t keep it in. And I can’t go on without it, so I say it, I say his name in a quiet whisper, I say his name and I succumb to sensation completely.