Dance

After Tracy K. Smith

I am thinking of your lips. The wide stretch of them when you lay eyes on me. The tilt when you find me amusing, or know something that has yet to be revealed to me. The assured, confident way they move over mine, unhurried in their exploring. The softness. The way they give in to the pressure of my teeth. How they let out a moan, and then a groan, surrender complete. I think of the trail they leave down my neck, there’s a path on my body and they map it. The way they open ever so slightly as you hover above me. The sense of completeness when they envelope a hardening nipple, a pebble you like to tease. I am thinking of the diligent exploration, my body an expanse they are eager to reach. My skin, marked, in the wake of their trip. How they settle inside my thigh, and open as you breathe. A port before the storm they’re about to unleash. I am thinking of the way they find me, the gentleness, the quiet insistence of their sucking. My body is a song and they’re pulling at its strings. And after, when we’re both spent, how they settle on my forehead, the dance complete.