Opia

7 months in,

Twilight twinkling

And the clock ticking on my 28th turn around the sun.

Freshly shaved, showered, strategically perfumed.

Cold air swooshed around the folds of a white teddy, lace fraying almost torn from tugging over the tits.

I licked the salty beads of sweat from my upper lip as the firm knockknockknock caused a flutter of rapid heartbeats.

No lipstick. Too messy.

Door swung open with a smile,

You went right for the eyes.

Sad, they’ve always been called. Empty.

The light in the hallway backlit yours and I drowned in hooded pools of honey.

Lids fluttered open and shut out of habit-

You were learning too much, unchaining

Locks with a rare blink and slow grin.

Opia.

Unsure if I wanted the eye contact,

lights intentionally off.

Were you the hunter or the prey?

Pulling it over, your hoodie smelled like fabric softener, beard tickling somewhere between my shoulder and neck.

Right hand firmly gripped the back of my thigh, I wondered could you feel cellulite.

Callouses on your fingers titillating.

Keep the light on, you whispered down my back,

let me see you.

Lamp flickered before settling on a steady glow.

Raw vulnerability ambiguously curved

Into aggression.

I entwined my own legs around your neck,

Your skin rubbed against my pelvic bone, the fat that covered it. Arm hair. Cold nipples caped by wrinkled areolas.

closed my eyes out of habit until you breathed down my neck again

Let me see you.

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