To the uninformed, we are two people, neutral in our delight, calm in one another’s company. No one could guess that deep in the night (during the hours that bewitch the morning), you lick your finger and feel the texture of my juice. Still. Unlike your tongue, no one knows quite how my clit swells. Unlike your eyes, no one has seen me bend and beg and coo and ride us both to freedom. Few could paint with words the way you draw me deeper into these noises I make – like velvet grinding into steel. It is impossible for anyone to know the ease with which we sit together over a meal or a drink – every syllable our eager fuck, our sweet love-making in every swallow.
