You know, afterwards, do you cuddle? See I’m puzzled because, holding you feels a bit much. Like opening myself up to you, which I know I literally did do about twenty minutes ago and, though you are now very well acquainted with my cervix that still seems
Less…Intimate.
More…Natural.
Than fingersteps traced across your chest as my head rests on your clavicle; your hands in my hair and gentle kisses pressed on my forehead. You turn to spoon but, it feels a bit soon, like, I don’t even know which drawer holds your actual cutlery in the kitchen. I’ve never been there. You just whisked me upstairs, stripped to underwear, my clothes (and yours too) strewn, chaos on your bedroom floor, and they always seem so disapproving the morning after the night before so I hurry them back on. All whispered curses and shuffling limbs in the dark. My bra straps are twisted wrong and I’ve only got one sock so, I flick the light on. Catch your half opening, just-fucked, 3am eyes. And realise. For the first time tonight.
I am truly naked.
afayewithwords 