a poetic prose
i wonder how long you will love me as i cuddle into the softness of your deep voice. i am building a home for us using the calluses of your hands — hands so big that they expand wider than my waist, but not as wide as my thick thighs. you keep your fingers wedged between my thickness. there is more intimacy in these moments than our lovemaking. i shower kisses upon the right side of your face, begging for you to turn so i can admire all the imperfect that is left. but you never turn my way. i watch the way your eyelashes flutter despite your eyes being closed. i worry if it is just the butterflies fleeing from your stomach to your chest, or if you are afraid. my temper rises quicker than any nymph ever could — taller than every inch your body takes up in the room. higher than my father’s backhand, or my mother’s screams when she was exorcising their demons out of me. the softness of my voice feels forced unlike yours, yet you still look for a home in the crooks of my arms. i wonder how long my love will last when you find there is no coddle in my sweetness.
