A lover

"I know you" he says, and pulls my face down for a kiss.
In an ideal world I would be in the arms
of a taller, older, more attractive man:
someone who knows how to whisper
all the bare words of the world,
to work my curves like wax,
and to fit himself around me in a comma of sex.

This boy, this
shy lover, kisses me. Oh,
how the sweetness of his mouth
poisons.

We take things slowly,
trace pink-nub nipples with our teeth,
kiss and kiss all the hinges of our bodies.
And how easily he bruises - too ripe
for his own skin.

Now he's half awake and watching me
study him, his paleness,
the smudge of his long eyelashes
And those raspberry-red lips part
as he says "I know you"
and I'm hungry, so hungry for him.