“Sometimes, when you’re asleep, I want to do it to myself while I’m watching you. It would be easy, two fingers along my clit, back, in, back out. Your skin’s heat comes into me, adjacent. Through the mussed chrysanthemum— petals, your big child’s sleep-face, closed around its openness, gives me your mouth to ground on, but only with my eyes. I could come like that, but I don’t—take you against your will, it seems like, and I wouldn’t; rather wait adores in sunlight, with this morning heat condensing, a soft cloud above my groin gently diffusing brightness there, until you wake up, and you bring it down like rain.”
