It Doesn't Take Much
a praise-kink love poem
Let me tell you how it doesn’t take much to have me dripping in the palm of your hand.
Doesn’t take much to have me puddled and panting.
Just your eyes on my skin like fingertips,
tracing into the hollow of my throat for messages,
pooling beads of sweat into the cup of my collarbone.
Let me tell you how it doesn’t take much to have my heart halfway up my throat, throbbing in my open mouth
Dip your fingers in and pull it out, why don’t you?
Doesn’t take much.
Just the whole of you. Just you and every story I will ask you to tell me, no stone left unturned in your mental stroll across this lifetime, I want to hear them all before I forget what it feels like to get to know you. Buying time with a currency of authenticity and a demand that you show me More. More. More.
It doesn’t take much.
Just the promise of exceptionalism in the assertion that no one, no one has ever been this magnificent.
Tell me, baby. Say it.
You want kinky? I was raised in a gifted and talented program that has me chasing every orgasm like it were an SAT score.
The word “best” is like an aphrodisiac,
a kind of academic Viagra that sets my breath on edge and pools my wanting in at the edges of my panties,
Take them off for me, Daddy - you can - just tell me that no one
No one has ever been this wet before.
Tell me that nothing about me is anything other than perfect and you’ll ruin and repair me with one stroke of your tongue, one bite of my lip, one tug of my hair and your entire being and attention focused on me, only me.
God, I’m a poly nightmare but damn if I’m not fun to make come apart at the seams.
You can do it, baby, I believe in you.
I know I can, but I still want you to tell me so.
I hate the words always and never except when I’m fucking.
Talk to me in extremes,
make me believe you mean it.
Make me believe that this state of this, this heart pulse, skin flush, chemical rush of wanting more more more like a horizon that will never cease retreating is all I ever have to be and that’s ok too.
We’re perfect like this.
And this can stay.
This can stay.
This will stay.
Make me believe this world is simpler than all the confusion and contradiction that makes me a better person who always,
always has more work to go.
…
Summer, 2025