“I don’t like how the word feels in my mouth.”
He tells you,
“I don’t like the shape of the words.
I could call you so many things, my dear,
But they don’t sound right coming from my lips.”
You look at him, confused, as his fingers trail to your chin,
Tilting your head up, oh so gently
“I want to ask the question.
I want to hear the sounds that you emit.
The words stuck in your throat,
As I drive sense from your brain.
I want to feel you around me
As I make you say you’re mine.
More than your agreement,
I want your affirmation.
I want to taste the air as you call yourself
It sounds so much better in your voice
To hear you say, or try to say,
In every way you want me.”