My rose toes wriggle
Beneath the weight
Of my fleshy thighs;
Slumber quietly
In the dark abyss
Between couch
Cushions.
My fingers find his mouth.
I press "send," knowing
His flesh burns to sleep with me--
[To really Slumber].
He likes the way my curls smell.
I am worth his
Patience
And
Time.
My words unfurl
And
Un-crease themselves.
They ink precise roadmaps
For
His hands
Aching to explore
Every fragile,
Floral
Part of me.
He responds in perfect timing with
Pixelated
Postures
And blue eyes.
I am as
Painted as
I will ever
Be.
