Shortness on my hands

Along your neck

Oversensitive, 

Can't grab on.

Pleasure surges,

My skin betrays in pink splurges,

Your breath in uneven gasps,

Our hearts in rapid beating.

We are spent, over, done.

I trace your stubble while

Into my longer strands your fingers plunge,

Ready to repeat the impossible.

These are the lyrics to a song the main character in my novel "The Love We Wrote" came up with.