Melissa O. Fuller

I pulled my sweater up above & over his head.
“What are you doing?”
he asked.
“I’ve captured you.”
I whispered.

I felt him in the dark.
His eyes traced mine,
nose
lips
chin.
Fingers ran along the pronunciation of my collarbone
eyeballs glazed over the familiar beauty mark
placed gently in my sternal notch.
A swift lick of the lips
met the eager mind
somewhere between the eyes.

He gawked at my breasts
“What are you doing?”
I said.
“Touch them.”
“They were made for you.”

12/17/2009