la route gourmande

Post-sex cuddling was always my favourite part her smell, the beat of her heart.  A jump into the future.

but she,  she saw my scars  on my naked body And took it as a privelege  to fill in the gaps, to run her fingers between them and write the story for me. To romanticize them. Missing the steps of getting to know me. “Tell me about it” she said as she observed the deepest one. We had just met but somehow she was in charge, holding the scalpel and opening me up as she pleased. I breathed, heavily and with a short breath claimed there was is not much to tell. I felt, insulted?  To think what I had done to myself could one day become just pillow talk? for anyone who stepped foot into my house. We just met...  I thought.  You see, she had never done that.  She saw my scars,  kissed them raw. She knew it was a privelege and treated it as such. 

A jump into the past. Post-sex cuddling was always my favourite part her smell, the beat of her heart. 

Her nervous voice breaking between words,  her hands reaching  for my wrists. she looks me in the eyes and asks, “how is it going, with this?”  she tightens her grip.