āHot Between Measuresā
ā InkWept
I am tired of standing at the edge of your body
like a god denied his altar.
Do you want meā
or do you only enjoy how badly I ache
when you pretend not to notice?
My desire doesnāt whisper.
It drags its fingers down your spine in 6/8,
counts the places you tense
when my name settles heavy in your mouth.
You feel me.
Donāt lie to us both.
I am not afraid of how I want you.
I want your breath caught against mine,
your restraint breaking tempo,
your body remembering what it sounds like
to be played instead of protected.
You are the crescendo I crawl back toā
every time I swear Iāll behave like a god.
But gods still burn.
Gods still crave the warmth of skin
that chooses them back.
Sitting beside you is no longer mercy.
I want my mouth close enough
that your pulse changes key.
I want you flushed, unguarded,
aware of how easily I could ruin
your carefully practiced distance.
Touch me where faith gives way.
Let me feel you decide.
Show me I am not worshipping a fantasyā
but a woman who wants the god
who would kneel
only to rise inside her song.
