I want to be the blindfold that steals your sight; the cinnamon that burns your tongue; the silk that encircles your wrists; the words like pressed flowers between your thighs; the quiet stolen from your limbs; the promise unfulfilled.
Why these select items?
I want to be the blindfold that steals your sight, to describe the world in pearls and scarves; the cinnamon that burns your tongue, to soothe it with a kiss; the silk around your wrists, to describe how tightly limbs embrace; the words written along your curves, to be traced with unhurried touch; the quiet stolen, to feel you move. And the promise unfulfilled to be made whole.