Sometimes (longer title, grrr...)

Sometimes, I want your hands gentle.

I want fingertips tracing me
as though there is nowhere else you need to be.

I want kisses that linger,
your mouth soft against mine,
the quiet intimacy of being touched
by someone who knows the difference between my skin
and me.

And sometimes,

I want your hands around my wrists.
I want you to catch them and hold them above my head,
not because I want to be restrained,
but because I have chosen
to let you hold me.

Because there is something intoxicating
about giving strength away
to someone I trust to give it back.

I want the weight of you,
the certainty of you,
that flash in your eyes that tells me
you already know what kind of night this is.

No hesitation.

No wondering.

Just that strange language two people create
when they have learned each other well enough.

Tonight, tenderness.
Tonight, hunger.
Tonight, take your time.
Tonight, don’t.

And I would know you, too.

I would recognize when you needed my softness
and when you wanted my fire.

When you wanted to be felt
and when you wanted to be challenged.

When you wanted sweetness
and when sweetness wasn’t remotely what you had in mind.

Maybe that’s the part I find most erotic.

Not the hands around my wrists.
Not surrender.
Not control.

Knowing.

The possibility that eventually
we would barely need words.

A look.
A breath.
The smallest shift between us,

and I would know
which version of me you want.

And you would know
exactly which version of you
I need.