I never got to hear your voice
Remaining silent with anticipation
I thought of you, what you may hide within
a pillow, or a slab of clay
How your expression lingered, prepared
blank and austere yet flush
Would I feel thawing satin
beneath, your thighs
slowly unspanning, your flesh
ready for attention

You hear me come
Inside some walls
And gather heat toward yourself
Your eyes engage my willingness
an empty naive gesture
"Is this the place?" I wonder, in my head

No one is really speaking here
the person I perceived you were
rises from a fluffy polyester comforter
Clumsy and ensnared
By a memory of something I can only dream

If I gave you just one word
we would fall together
Like two dobs of marshmallow puff
melting into the dark wood floor
Sticky and diffuse

But it's too easy in this moment
to let it slip away
Sighing, I imagine
one day you'll say
"this is the place"
and then tell me your name