French Doors, Open Windows, Your Scent On a Pillow

Don't you want to know this touch? New skin under the lines on your tips Just wet, soft. Fat right underneath the brim, and this is your foreign because your delicacy lies under the structure but mine was here on this platter waiting for you And let you be the concave structure that I form my body into Curled and coiled in the crevices of your comfort And no man has held me Just because To pass time and close his eyes and inhale this body here No man has folded me into the dip of his arms without reason, just because I'll believe this is all I've needed Daddy says I curl behind and beside nothing to return to the womb I know the soft of my mothers arms and the pillows of her body The cord was cut but she still fed me but no man has held me