in front of a full-length mirror in the bedroom she stands.
naked, she is completely naked.
she is not like other girls i've been with, they would never
stand stark naked in my presence in the middle of the day, the room beaming with light,
while i was sitting and watching from the other end of the room- no, they would feel shy.
to be naked is to be vulnerable.
not with her, she is standing in front of the mirror
cupping her ******* one before the other, raising them, examining them, and telling me
that one, the left one, grew first.
even now it's still a little bigger than this one, she says, if you look carefully.
it is as if she's describing and showing me something commonplace; like maybe her hands
or her feet.
mistaken for a work art,
so fine-***** and delicate,
her beauty is ethereal,
it is almost satanic.

these midday ******* are always the laziest.
she moves slow, ritualistic almost, looks up at me
then continues, her mouth moving in long, sweet, agonizing reaches.
i **** her against the door,
her fingers digging into my fro
sometimes i **** her from behind, she holds on tightly to the bathroom sink
like her life depends on it.
we are always *******. it's like we cannot get enough.
it's like we're ******* in order to get an answer.
an answer about something we're so desperate to know.
thinking about it now it almost seems sorrowful.

she likes to be naked in front of me.
she doesn't understand that i am not moved by nakedness, per se
i am taken by glimpses of femininity;
like seeing her brush her hair in front of the mirror in the morning,
her arms raised and bent at the elbows
one hand brushing the length of her hair and the other following through,
the hollows of each armpit bare;
or seeing her preparing for the gym,
tank top and tights, running shoes
tying her ponytail really tight, like an Olympic gymnast's,
her face pure, divine, free of make up
this
this child of a goddess,
i become drunk seeing such beauty.

after dinner she is reading a book, lying down on the bed
her head propped up with pillows
i get on the bed and immediately begin to unzip her denim shorts
what are you doing? she says this without removing her eyes from the book
i don't respond, i begin to pull her shorts down
seriously, what are you doing? this time she lowers the book and looks at me
she lets me do it though, she even raises her torso up slightly when i'm pulling her underwear down.
but no, no, stop it,
she really wants to read
also, she tells me it's uncomfortable to have penetrative *** on a full stomach.
i am confused. why did she let me take off her shorts and underwear then?
i give up and lie down
she's got all the pillows so i lie with my head between her legs
using her pelvis as a pillow,
we stay in this position for a while
until i turn my head and glance up at her; she is looking down at me and breathing calmly,
she closes the book and says,
baby, why do you torture me like this?
beneath my ear it is wet.

how do i make you understand this feeling?
how do i go about
converting it into text?

these are not just words.
they are a window
into my mind, into my world.