It’s almost easy the way my hand finds your throat.
No. Not easy.
Easy is never the right word with us.
Easy implies without effort. Without intent. Without drive.
And the way we meet in the middle is hard.
My grip around your neck is firm, not gentle. My teeth are never kind. My gaze is never light upon your skin. It has weight.
No, easy is not the word.
Natural, perhaps, is.