This post was written over a year ago, although I have no idea why, back then, I didn’t push the ‘publish’ button on completion.
Reading the words back to myself, they are as relevant now as they were then, those same feelings wrap themselves around my mind when I wake in the early hours and curl up closer to Him as He sleeps.

~

I crawl into bed beside Him, and mould my body to His.
He stirs, moulding Himself to mine.
I ache, lying at this angle, but I endure.
In 24 hours I’ll lament the absence of that ache, I’ll wish I had savoured it, or rather the moment, and so, in His warmth I take consolation, banishing all thought of bodily discomfort.

I close my eyes and take each detail in.

The heat He generates, the way His skin feels against mine, the way our limbs naturally entangle as proximity automatically draws us together.
I know, tomorrow,
the sheets,
I,
will be cold without Him.

From nowhere, tears burn, and I fight to hold them back.
I castigate myself; I should be used to this by now.

Emotion is raw, I wish He didn’t have to go.

Truth.
Each time we part, the wound of missing cuts deeper.

More tears, silently shed, and in anger at self, I brush them away.
I think back a few days to the emotions with which He toyed.
I cried.
I screamed.
I begged.
I yielded.
Raw, vulnerable, honesty coated every reaction.

But, it isn’t just the physical I miss, nor the elementary emotion inherent within.

I miss the active dominance, the dynamic protocol, the mental connection that only togetherness can provide in order to fully sate the submissive needs which gnaw at my psyche if left, untended, too long.
At a distance we are still Sir and pet, that does not change,
yet,
it isn’t enough that I tell Him, in textual form, that by the bed I kneel when missing overwhelms.
Without Him present to bear witness
to my surrender,
to the emotion,
to the yawning chasm His absence creates,
the act feels hollow,
incomplete.

Observation, stark.
Without Him, without Sir, I feel incomplete.