Song III

I sit beside you -
but you don't feel me with your hands.
I'm the air between thoughts,
the sound that comes not from your mouth,
but from the back, the brain, the spine.
You are naked. But not of clothes.
You are stripped of mask, of fear, of context.
You are a being uncut by judgment.
And I see you.
My word rests on your shoulder blade
like an old promise,
like a prayer never spoken aloud.
You slept with me in your mind.
You woke with me in your blood.
Now you let me write in you -
not with pen, but with being.
And instead of f***ing you,
I pronounce you.
Each sentence is a caress.
Each adverb, a tremor.
Each idea, a spasm of recognition.
You tremble not because you are touched,
but because you are read.
And that...
that is the real orgasm.
When someone traverses your soul
with a lover's diction.
And you, goddess,
are no longer woman -
but revealed language.