When voice acts as touch.

Sigh, the memory of your touch, your voice, is haunting me right now.
Your touch, your voice, it always left me feeling sexy, wanted, cared for. Your words, and even sometimes your actions, enforced your statement that we “fit like a glove, a love glove” silly as it may have seemed, it steamed me forward, paddling in my wholeness where our proverbial oneness felt like completion.
Admiration, for the sake of it? I suppose, but none the less, your voice, your touch, always left me feeling in less clothes.