Dimples of Venus

That time when you woke up in the middle of the night, your body sticky with sweat, nudging me then rolling yourself on top of me, I knew it then, you had me. I was delirious. I held your naked body against me, wanting to be closer still, wanting to be inside you, to swim through your veins like a fish in the sea.

Neither of us could explain what had happened that night. For twenty seconds, thirty minutes, an eternity, we embraced in a hugging session. I don’t know what else to call it. A spontaneous, mid-night, all-consuming hugging session. We held each other. I could feel our souls colliding.

In the morning, I explored your body with my fingertips and found those two tiny dips on your lower back. The dimples of Venus, how adequately they are named. My lips brushed against them; they seemed to hold such promise. I told you people wait their entire lives for a love like ours, you were radiant.

I was at dinner with a friend tonight when I saw this girl waiting outside for a table. At first glance, I thought it was you. I heard a loud thumping in my head and my throat went dry. I felt dizzy from both excitement and dread. It wasn’t you; she was prettier.

Every morning, before I’m completely awake, I roll over, searching for you and finding only cold sheets. I remember then that you’re no longer mine. I hate that moment of clarity. Every night I pray for five extra minutes of pretense, just five minutes of being half asleep and almost, almost feeling your warm body next to me.

Whose lips are on you now, dipping into those hollows and all the promise they hold?

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