ONE, two, three,
ropes exposing the roundness,
imaginary dots connecting the ache
with the touchable skin
as the tip of my fingers travels
from my breast to my belly,
from my belly to my side,
from my side to my thighs.
Close, so close—
the expectation that is now need.
Explore, explore,
but don’t touch.
One, TWO, three,
wetness soaking the fabric,
the air embracing my body
as if it were an invisible caress
coming from far, far away,
while the words become an order
and the order becomes action.
No doubts, no hesitation,
the explicit trust,
the shiny spot,
the prohibition of the red circle,
the strengthening of the will.
One, two, THREE,
the end that still needs to fight
for its place in this little bubble of the world.
Finally, skin over skin,
in, out, rub, pinch, rub, rub,
the mind traveling to a new sky,
the promise of what’s about to come.
Again the need, and the need
setting the tick, tick, tick of the clock,
the pace increasing,
the whisper asking for permission—
and then only the stars…
Two universes colliding
and releasing all the stored energy,
pain and pleasure,
the rebirth of the Painslut.