November 6, 2012

My dearest,

We are in bed and I am merciless. I have my weapons and there is no where you can run or hide.

Tickle, tickle.

Oh it’s amazing how terrible you are at this, how much you scream and beg and cry.

Tickle, tickle.

Finally I relent, and holding your palms against mine, our fingers nearly matching, I rest my forehead against yours and steal a tired kiss. A reward of sorts. Winner takes all, but a little kiss would do. We are both breathing hard and sweating.

It’s that sort of afternoon.

Yours, ever and always.