(For Lexy)

I arrive with breath,
not bravado.
A quiet knock
that carries intention.

She opens the door,  
like dawn opens the sky,
slowly,
knowingly,
already prepared.

I step in,
not as stranger,
but as someone
who’s read the terms
and honours the offering.

The room is warm with her,
not perfume,
but presence.
A warmth that lingers
where words don’t reach.

We speak, briefly.
Not small talk,
just the shape of the exchange:
this much,
for this kind of touch,
this kind of time.

I place the money
where she’s asked me to.
No shame.
No secrecy.
Just the grace
of being clear.

She nods.
I breathe.
We begin.

Skin meets skin,
not for hunger,
but for grounding.
For the kind of holding
that reminds me
I am still here.

And when I leave,
I carry no confusion.
Only the echo
of being seen,
held,
and met
exactly as agreed.