Unrepentant Lover of Cuddles
Seeking salvation in her arms, whoever she may be, that holds me, settles this sanctimonious heartbeat, her gaze grazing my face, and still, she smiles.
What’s wrong with a man who thirsts for cuddling? Is affection so outdated that I must forfeit all concepts of physical connection with emotional resonance? When did one night standing alone bedtimes become the norm? Can I be blamed for enjoying the embrace of a feminine form without an erection fixing itself between us?
Her palm rests on my cheek, the imagined coagulated form of an indeterminate soulmate, holding my face with a tender touch, eyes reflecting to me that all will be well, I can be loved and love in return.
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