My heart is racing,
—the tattle tales of my turn-on.
I sat down with a purple sweater on.
And heard you whisper to take it off.
You always want me naked.
The moment my mind gallops forth with a stubborn display
You pull the reins with a firm and soft certainty…
“Trust me, I know best.”
My lips are tingling,
My flushed cheek bones are abuzz.
You always have something up your slip
but I can't see in the dark.
I can hear my breath,
Short and shallow.
“I’m deeper than that.”
wavering on the fence post of faith.
I have questions.
Your patience agrees to speak the slimmed down truth.
So we talk.
Me still naked,
You dressed up to the nines in pearls
And flowing velvet.
As you circle,
your royal robes and pearls trail behind, tracking your body language
with a sense of loyalty.
You catch my gazing eyes wondering how you trained them.
You slide melodies in my head every morning...
“I relish hearing you sing.”
You touch me without using hands...
“So do you.”
I want to get on my knees...
“I prefer a more active devotion.”
What if I can’t?
“You already are.”
What if they think I’m too distant?
“You’re in a different world.”
You notice my sadness.
I want a good coddle,
But you don’t oblige.
— Space is needed for a choice to land.
What do you want for breakfast?
“It’s still dark out.”
We both agree to answer in the morning.