intimacy begins above the neck, not that all men realise this, relying too heavily on sexual prowess, leaving them flaccid and snoring & their lovers reading romance novels just to warm the bed.
on the couch, we sit, nothing touching but our feet. usually, i don't like anyone touching my toes, but you know this, and are gentle. you know me. we talk about whatever and everything and nothing, not to fill the space but because we are interested. even in the nothing, that needs to be said.
we don't even have to touch, sometimes it is as simple as washing the dishes. you find it sexy when i help around the house. i know this, so i smile as i scrape leftover bits of dinner off the plates, water rushing into the sink. i don't mind dish pan hands and apparently, neither do you.
these are all intimacies, but when the time comes for even more, it begins above the neck, that tender flesh behind your ears, nibbling a trail to your collarbone. these things i know, because i know you & you know me.
then, intimacy is all the more sweet, when it is time to descend, below the neck.
written for One Shot Wednesday - no theme, just write a poem and come join us. it opens at 5 PM, tonight.
also submitted to 10DOM, a bi-monthly writing contest, whose theme this time is "below the neck".