And guarantee source divine...

I've been in a state of vaguely awake all day. Haven't been able to push myself into total coherency. No motivation.

What I want...

What I want is a stereo in my bedroom, a man in my bed, and daylight sliding between the vertical blinds. I want perfect rhythm and miles of skin to explore with my tongue, find all the different tastes and textures a man's body has to offer, those hollows at the base of the throat to bury my nose in, let body heat carry male scents upwards, the taut skin running from neck to shoulder, my lips on the curve of that muscle, teeth nipping lightly. An ear pressed to his chest, feeling the heartbeat echo into my skull. The weight when someone shifts on top of you, rolls you onto your back, nuzzle-thrust-nuzzle. Hot breath in your ear.

But I, I am at work.

I am at work and there is no man in my bed.

And every time I have gone to write "bed" in this post, I write "head" instead.

This means something.

There are too many men in my head, and not enough me.