My subconscious created a scene, unbeknownst to me, and delivered it in the form of a dream:

In a large room filled with people at tables of three facing a chair in the center of a raised stage (I sware the room was more like an old classroom).

With people mingling, volume increases to deafening, until a door opens with a whip-snap, closing mouths, silence resounds when you walk in and over to me, tears streaming down my face I’m so happy to have you in my space.

You lean to kiss my cheek, but despite the world watching, I take my opportunity and pull your lips to mine, yet with a gengle nudge, you separate just a touch from the tip of my nose, and slowly you watch my eyes beg…

Then, unabashedly you explore my full-pout lip with your thumb and your tongue, until our tongues gain a rhythmic tempo of sips, slips, and slides, and I feel the power of your passion entering me as a lightbeam  that then lifts us upward upon a cloud, our bodies lying down, and you see the flaws, the scars, and you keep kissing me deeply, while I moan, squeezing you to me as if I’ll never let go.