Choo Choo

I want to feel his chest pressed against my back. Our calves running against each other in hungry friction. The tips of his fingers pressing into my hips in a simple action of command; stay. I need to feel what hot sighs leave his mouth to brush against my neck, just as he needs to hear mine escape with every endurance of him I survive. I hope to bare what sign of him I can either in human form or in limited eyes vision. Youthful as we are the string of thought lingers for weeks, months, and at times those seconds that feel like years. He is a nameless train, as I am an unbuilt tunnel. It is unknown when construction begins, how long it will take, and how beautiful it will end, but there is a promise of construction.