Alone

My nipples ache for the sweet wetness of your sliding tongue.I am young. The fire between my hips burns high, I cry. All alone, My fingers roam to soothe the damp, and soft places they seek, I weep. Like a wave that crashes on the shore, there is more. I stop, and press my fingers to my lips, taste the tips. Each day, in every way I die a little more.