i am yours
and my thighs are yours to separate and
i want you to make a home between them,
breaking in the walls where you deem it necessary
and insulating cold rooms with your own self,
and i want to warm you, too but i don't know how and i fear failure,
I know I speak like a psychologist and that my glare draws crevices in your self-assurance,
but right now this isn't the Me you know

*This is the truth that I will not state explicitly, but will imply through shaky exhales and involuntary lapses in vocal function, with my fingers limp yet imperceptibly begging for you, and my lack of defense when your authoritative hands do what they do.