Desire and conquest

You met her with stone eyes, even though your insecurities tried to melt them into wax. She looked down, smiled, and the rest went to rest. Now, with her legs, she envelopes you like a pearl in an oyster. Her soft cheek hugging your hard shoulder and it's woman and man. In the dark, her eyes are holes that you've learned to recognize. You know her by the sound of her breathing, by the weight of her hand on your happy trail, and by how her hair tickles your nose, but doesn't make you want to sneeze. You try to imprint on your brain how the pressure from her feels on your stomach, chest, and knees so you can call her to mind, physically, when you're alone. But you're disappointing yourself, because now you'll never be alone. Comfortable loneliness is not having any Body around and no thought of one either, and with her, that will never be actual . But right now, you're brazen. You're selfish. And don't know how and don't want to be satisfied. So, you explore her back with knuckles and callous fingers, nearly crying to God to turn the dead tips of them pink so you could feel her winding road. You realize how much of her thigh fits in your palm and how far up your hand can go until her breathing halts. Which inch makes her sigh, which centimeter makes her stretch out, and which itch she dies for you to get. As you skate on her skin up her neck, she reels back and her hair hits your face making a splash. Almost arrogantly, you move up further into her field of a black mane, and make a fist to pull it back. She looks at you and spaces out completely gone. Completely gone. Because she's found the man to pull her reins.

...by That Solid Old Man