I did not call upon you to press my breast upon your breast and tongue-kiss into the night.
I did not ask you to meet me, so we could re-dance a dance we’ve done.
I know where you step and I stand.
The love we made was sweet and salty and there are poems and songs and art that we will have tangibly, long after I have left this cabin and you are gone.
They are written and hang from the walls, the ceilings, the old hardwood floors that creak. They are in the moans, in the red candle wax with no wicks left.
They are in the records that we’ve played, the wine that we’ve drank and the bed that I sleep in.
They surface like black and white movies, reeling slowly in my brain when I hear your left shoe fall on the floor.
Although the we have been lovers, and could be again, I did not bring you here to make love.
I brought you here to love me.
Not with your lips or your hands, your brown arms with hair golden from the spring sun, but your heart.
I brought you here to peer into your soul and see if we are a love story worth breathing on the embers for.
If I wish to open my heart, to you, again.
If we have more to write and say and do and be and go and live and love.
So, no, I do not wish you to carry me, leaving my white cotton shirt upon the banister to the bedroom we have made love in.
My skin smells of coconut and I know we would make love so sweetly the moon may reach for a cloud to cover her ears, for she cannot bare to not know such a thing.
I do not wish you to kiss the skin above my waist with your tongue.
I do not wish you to embrace me with those arms.
I do not wish you to think me naked.
Sex is easy and love is hard.
So do not reach for me with lust that is expiring as the dusk crickets move through yellow spring flowers in the fields below.
Do not bring your desires empty of a sweetness that lasts to my doorstep.
I am waiting for love.
And although I am free, and a lover of passion and sex without shame or judgment—just for the heat in my belly and warmth in between my legs—I do not wish to have sex with you tonight.
I may not need a ring, or white dresses, or papers with signatures—but there is one thing I need from you tonight.
So come here, if you will, so I may hold you, beside my red beating heart and the crackling of the fire.
But you must promise to toss away the lust and the wishes and the wants.
I am waiting to hold someone in my heart, before I take them between my freckled thighs.
Author: Janne Robinson
Editor: Renée Picard
Image: courtesy of the author