v u l v a l i c i o u s
i don't ask
this is a catalog of all the ways you don't touch me.
teeth, pulled across my arm, wrist, neck. anywhere, really.
even your kisses have gone soft. i ache for tongues, pressure, heat.
i do not know how to ask for these things, and so i am quiet.
slowly i try to find them inside myself, to wrap them up and present them one by one.
so far i have bitten my wrist; sucked down my fingers, pressed my head into them until i gagged; ran a thumb lightly over my nose, then down, biting, always biting, it's teeth i want, need, crave. i have those.
so far i have opened myself and writhed against the edge of the bed, fucked myself depraved, left myself aching for more and from too much; i have stared myself down and said, "yes, yes, you're gorgeous, fuck, yes." fuck. yes.
i have slapped my face, worn bruises into my thighs, pinched myself hard, then harder. sucked down a knife.
i do these things because i don't know the right words to use to ask for them. because from this distance, in this light, your face tells me no before i even have a question out yet.
and i am tired, too. so tired all the time and yet never sleeping. my body humming lightly well into the night.