It started like a hum, 
First just a note, then two or three 
--A melody flowing. 
Your pin along the surface of my black body, 
Each curve, each point 
Even the spaces between the words, 
Were me. 
Each word, 
A mirror, 
A definition of myself 
That you drew.

I felt your touch, 
The heat of your breath on my skin, 
A palpable thing. 
Your tongue 
On the tip of my breast’s darkened peak, 
Not just hands stretched across my smooth surface. 
Your fingers pressed into my flesh. 
You felt muscle. 
You felt weakness. 
You feel me
And you squeeze, 
A needed pain.

How did you know?

Within the lines of your poem, 
I unfurled. 
My soul extended. 
My blood expanded. 
My extremities stretched. 
Unhooded and aching, 
I came, 
Loosening myself 
Between your metered rhymes 
And alliterations. 
You know me 
And I cannot hide.

I sing. 
I dance, 
My hips swaying, 
My core gliding against yours. 
You know my sorrow. 
You bring my smile. 
You stroke my sex. 
And, I am yours, 
A free thing to be given. 
I offer myself upon your alter. 
I am already burning.

How did you know 
That I needed your words, 
That I am your sounds, 
That my body 
Is your poem?

Perhaps, 
You did not. 
And, may never know 
That I am now and forever 
At your mercy. 
If your poem is a part of you, 
Then you are now a part of me. 
On this page, 
We are one.