I Like Your Body



I love the way you fit in my body,
in the curve of my hip
in the small of my back,
inside the palm of my hand
and the roundness of my cheek.

I love how you fit next to me
and I next to you —
in the crook of your arm
and the hollow between your thighs.

Where the corners of your smile
lift at the sight of me,
these are the places I find myself —
and I adore that I fit so nicely into you.

If I could borrow poetic words
from e e cummings, I would tell you.
I like my body when it’s with your body
— because it’s true.

I like your body and my body
and the places where freckle
meets freckle like a sky full of stars.

I like the way your fingers
leave indentations in my hips,
the way your teeth carve moons in my flesh,
and the way your eyes burn into
my shoulders, my neck, my breasts.

I like the way your gaze cuts me open
like a knife sharpened on lust,
and the way your breath
fills the hollow of my throat.

I like your body, the weight of it over me,
the way it covers me, pushes me,
makes me crawl — both toward you
and away — up the wall.

I like what my body does,
in those moments
when I cannot figure out
whether I am in me, or in you,
or free to spread my wings —
to plunge into the blackest,
deepest parts of the sky,
where you once told me
the limits of your love for me might lie.

I like that my body is animal —
bristling predator and quivering prey —
that you can tie down, break open,
make hot and wet,
make tremble and convulse.

I like the way your mouth fits my mouth,
the way the taste of you —
all coffee and cigarettes,
warm wind and metal —
fills my mouth and washes
over my tongue.

I will swallow you down
like you are my very life,
sweeter than any honey
summer might offer.

I like the way your body moves
at the touch of my fingers,
cannot stay still
at the sound of my words.

I like the grimaces
that close your eyes,
and twist your smile
into an alphabet of pleasure.

I like the breathing-pulsing-pushing
of your hips and shoulders,
your back and it’s perfect arch,
your muscles rippling as you-inner wolf
fights to escape the flesh and sinews I adore.

I like your body inside my body —
outside my body, tangled up
and wrapped around my body.
I like the way you climb inside
and take control.

I like the way you surrender yourself
to my hungry jaws and darting tongue —
and my relentless fingers,
the way you acquiesce
to the madness in my curse words,
and my incoherent burbles of ecstasy.

I like the poetry
our bodies make together,
and the music
that drives our dance.

I love the places where I find you,
in my body — hours,
sometimes days later,
when you are hard at work,
bending and binding
fire and metal,
and I am sitting here
with pen and ink
staring at a blank page.

I like that you are here,
in the ache of my shoulder,
the bruise at my elbow,
the breath that echoes
just below my ear.

I find you constant
in the hunger that burns
deeper than my belly can
possibly be inside my body —
this body — that loves your body,
these fingers and lips,
these thighs and hips.

They adore you, crave you,
will always love you,
whether you are tangled
up with my body —
or simply on your way
back to me.