You are always absent and always present. When you are here I can see your mind drift, your eyes shift to a warmer thought than I.
To a softer flesh not tainted by the mundane of dirty laundry and washing up, of shopping lists and dusting. I know where you would rather be, not here on the sofa with me watching the same stories in the same shows. I know you want to spread her legs and fuck her, whispering your lust and need in panting gasps as you fill her.
I bet you make the same face as you come, the same plea to god and praise to fuck the cunt that wraps round you. Yet when you are with her you are here still, in me.
I’m marked by you, here, deep inside me. I know you in my soul and feel you in my core.
My flesh remembers every time you’ve been with me, no barrier to your spill against the wet pulse of my cunt, or the warm explosion over my wrist, belly or breast.
Too long we’ve let ourselves drift until the tide of life swept us apart. Our lust spiralling to the deep caves of past times and you wandering in her shallows.
My absent man, here and there, but beware should you ever find your way back I may too be gone.