You are quiet.
Not when we are outside, then that becomes mine.
But when you belong to me.
All I can hear is the sound of your breathing, and of my lips on your skin, the press of our clothing in the front seat of my car,
Knees on either side of your waist
Knees on either side of your waist.
Then I tease noise from you,
With less than others have asked,
Or taken,
And my spine is gripped by electric hands, nerves lighting up that are threaded beneath my skin.
Because I teased noise from you
And I want to hear you make it again.