The flavor of your love feels different.
Not because I’ve known it,
but because I haven’t.
Yet somehow
my body remembers
what my hands never touched.
When you speak about poetry,
something restless wakes inside me.
And when you said
my mind is sexy,
God.
How dangerous words can be.
Humping.
Jumping.
Steady—yet still rocking.
Like two storms
learning the rhythm
of each other’s gravity.
Lips to lips.
Skin to skin.
Desire to desire.
Energy aligned,
perhaps intimacy itself
was always sacred.
Dear you,
I can’t wait
until that day comes.
—Z
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