Give Me That Look Again

My love—
there is a look you give me
that steals the air from the room.

The one you wear
when your thoughts have turned
to heat
and your body starts speaking
in promises.

I know it.
I know it like a second skin.

It says:
get ready.
It says:
I’m going to ruin you sweetly.
It says:
you’re mine—
and you love that you are.

And God, I do.

Because when your hands find me,
I am not gentle.
I am not shy.
I am starved.

And you—
you are the meal
and the hunger
and the flame.

You press against me
and everything melts.
The day.
The noise.
My name.

You whisper something
low and wicked
and I forget how to be
anything
but yours.

So look at me like that again.
Touch me like that again.
Take me—
not in passing,
but in prayer.

Like this body
was built
for your hands.

Because it was.