Samba

14° and snow blankets the ground,

But when I think back to what once was as hot as a summer in Brazil, I can’t help but to replay the sounds we made.

your body is my favorite instrument in all its intimates, with every touch I could make you gasp for air, teasing you with every caress.

tension erupting as the cool air blew from lips over your flame, begging me to put out the fire within you. A blindfold over your entrusting yourself in me to see to see for you, your hands in bondage entrusting me to be your strength.

your legs over my shoulders as I lift you into the air, thighs tightly engaged around my face as my lips embrace the sweet of your flower, my beard dripping all of its dew down my chest as you baptize me in your love.

my dick aching with desire from the memories from long ago.

If Samba is the sound of longing, escapism is the warm of our song that indefinitely plays on repeat In my mind.

but in reality, it’s 14° and snow blankets the ground.