This poem only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

A long day at work,
Running after other people,
Up and down ladders, moving bolts of cloth,
Tailoring my wares to whiney whingers' whims.
I stagger to the shower
And wash the fibres away,
The ache of my soul rising to the surface
As I let the suds scent my skin with soft vanilla.

But who cares if I smell like
Hot cookies zooming from the oven
To lie naked and delicious on the rack?
Who cares if I smell like
Decadent cake,
Rich with smooshing fruit
And playful with whipped cream?

I crawl into bed
Like a Goth Eskimo,
Too-big, black hoodie enveloping me past my naked hips,
And I wish it was your hoodie,
With the deep, safe scent of you surrounding me.
I wish these sleeves were your arms,
Holding me in my tiredness
And squeezing the sleepy
Chill of loneliness away.

I wish the heavy hood
Was your hand,
Smoothing back my damp hair,
Easing the ache in my tight, tense shoulders.
I wish the weight of my duvet
Was your hand on my bare ass,
Softly telling me that after sleep
Will be a time to play
And be happy together.

I wish the firmness
Of my feather pillow
Was your chest
So that I could hear your heart,
Slow, rhythmic, deep,
A rumble of contented delight
At having Your Girl in your arms,
At sharing intimacy, trust, and silent, breath-warm comfort.

Flushed cheeks,
Damp hair,
Naked under your hoodie...

I just need a cuddle

With you.

This poem only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.