How do you know

just how to touch me?"

The question escaped her lips

in one breath

before she collapsed against me

nuzzling and blushing

into my chest hair

~

I consider deflecting

Telling her

that a magician

never reveals his tricks

Does she really want to know?

~

Maybe I can tell her

that it's because I remember

every conversation we've ever had

I know she worries

feeling desired

so I know how to grip her

like I'm going to tear her to pieces

I know others rushed

so I rest my beard

between her legs

and luxuriate as she soaks my face.

~

Maybe I tell her

that I constantly read her body.

That I now know

how her breathing changes

when she wants it harder or gentler.

I know how her eyes change

when she wants to be dominated

When she wants to be coerced

When she wants to be held.

~

I can tell her

that I notice when her hand

guides me in one direction or another.

That when I sink my teeth into her thighs

I already know the tremors in her voice

between "never stop" and “too much".

That I know which kiss means

“I'm yours"

and which kiss means "f**k me, raw".

~

But I still want more time

to touch her

to hold her

to claim her.

~

Or maybe I answer honestly.

I don't know how

Not yet

She is endlessly complex

she’s lived a life of love and trauma

intimacy and fear

long before I balanced her submissive needs

on the end of my tongue.

There is still so much to learn about her

for I haven't filled her enough

haven’t been inside her for long enough

or deeply enough.

Haven't watched her come enough.

~

I need more time.