You play my skin
like you beat your Doumbek,
holding my body firm in your grasp…
my hips at the base,
my waist at the middle,
my breast the skin beneath your fingers,
my heart the tambourine just under the surface.
Your goblet drum is the chalice of my body
between your guiding hands,
you know the rhythm to bend me,
DOUM, KA, TEK,
DOUM, KA, TEK,
until I bellow as deep as the bass in your timber,
quivering at your touch.
The sound reverberates
through the hollows,
as we breathe each other in and out,
stealing our breaths in unison.
Every movement of your cupped palm, your wrist, your fingers –
every touch is done with care.
You massage your way through me,
as we melt into one another.
The words that fall out of my mouth
are brutally honest,
percussion notes as effortless
and hypnotic as your beats.
As we inhale each other,
I puzzle piece myself to you,
intertwining my legs, arms, and lips with yours,
as the rhythm continues…
You touch something so deep within me
it’s like you’re tickling my mind
and digging into my subconscious,
echoing my primal sound.
You hold me and rock me in your arms, gently,
singing as I weep against your chest,
safe, sturdy, and steadfast.
We see into each other
and through each other –
and as I gaze back at you,
I feel like I’m looking at myself.
When you touch me,
I feel fully present in my body.
Some pleasure, some pain,
but all consensual.
Your permission to let go and release
allows me to unleash and relinquish
everything I’ve been holding back,
in one sensual, spiritual moment.
By Leslie I. Benson | Photo from Pexels