[I’ve been writing a bunch lately about me and sex, but I have this problem where when I step far enough away from the visceral experience, a lot of the most important things somehow fall through the cracks of what I’m able to express. So, I’m going to be posting some sort of attempts at talking about how sex works for me, and what I get out of it in the coming weeks. But also, I want to supplement it with some poetry (or something like it anyway). You’ll get a regular post on Wednesday!]

Face to face with you, I know we are going to kiss.

We’ve been here before, a thousand times and more. A thousand and more first kisses, and so many more to come.

I want it. I want it.

But I won’t kiss you yet. I love this moment too, too much. I wish I could live here forever.

Anticipation is the best part.

You don’t kiss me yet either. Do you feel it, too? Do you love this moment as much as I do?

I think you just love to watch me squirm. (I know you do).

I think you just know how important it is to me, this moment before.

And you show restraint so that I don’t have to, and somehow that makes it so much better.

You do it all for me, I think. And I love you for it.

Nothing satisfies me quite so much as being made to wait.

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