The Blood & The Bones

I am supposed to be subtle and coy yet here I am, trying to figure out ways for you to notice me.

I study your face. Your brow is brooding, your nose broken at least once, your lips… oh your lips. Your lips are made for something… I’d like to say kissing but that’s not enough. The things I’d do to those lips.. the things I’d like to make them taste.

Your jawline is strong, neck thick and your chest and arms decorated with art and experiences. Something about a broken heart covered up with ink.

Like Zeus, you are a God among men… the way you stand there on top of the world, the way you command them with what you speak. Your tongue so fluent, I wonder just how thoroughly it could speak to me.

My eyes have gone down the length or you more times than I can count. And in my mind, my body has too.

Your hands are made for gripping things… stocks, handles, curves. And I want to feel them leaving imprints in me. Manhandled is an understatement. You’re the kind of lover I’d let destroy me.

I could carry on about your mind and your body and all that I have imagined but what good is it when I can’t speak up. And that is a foreign thing to me. Never been a girl who didn’t say exactly what she meant, who didn’t go after what could make a mess of me. And yet I want to be the thing you hunt, the elusive prey. The kind of thing you’d use up all the pieces of and still keep on display.

So, I quietly watch you saying not a word, observing and obeying even though you have asked nothing of me.

And even as much of a man as you are, I know I could secretly bring you to your knees…

If only you would notice me.