I am no longer
A ****** being.
I get more from a right touch
Then the aforementioned ******,
I have died to the idea-
that you can take me somewhere I haven’t already been
without wanting me in a fresher way
then to lay on and then next to me

The drop of your eyes
As they dart away from my own
I want that
I want the tight grip of your hand
Around my ankle
The insistence of your words on mine
Panting, eager, delicate
conversations
that converge into familiarity

I am no longer
A ****** being
But I am drawn to sheets
As an entity-
As a home for intimacy
But it is most intimate
When they are still cold
Under my goose bumps

I resolve myself
To the longing
For something more then just a body
And a body
Tangling
I want to eat your temperament
For breakfast, lunch, and diner
And then rest on the bare chest of someone
Who will still want me there when I wake up.