I always think that what I want is the urgent hotness of your mouth; the feeling of pulling you in at the curve of your waist and holding you close. I always think the thing I want is your need on me and the oblivion that comes after and that only you are allowed to bring me. But the part I always find I like most is the quiet after when we are eating fruit and talking about nothing and the frozen sea inside us has been turned warm and calm and we are lost in the dappled sun of the turning leaves rustling outside the open window.