If You Let Me

I don’t know if you love me anymore.
But I know I love you—
and I still lust for you.
Even after all these years,
after the weight we’ve both carried,
after the silence between us.

I want you.
I don’t know how to begin,
as if I’ve never touched you before.
And yet, I know every inch of you.
I could find you in the dark.
Maybe that’s how it should be—
me…blindfolded,
so you won’t feel exposed,
so it won’t feel like you’re giving in.

Let me kiss your shoulders,
the bend of your neck,
slowly,
like I’ve got forever to remember you.
I’ll breathe between your breasts,
kiss the curve of them,
loving how they’ve changed,
how they fill my mouth now
in a way they never did before.
I’ll taste your nipples, one by one,
the way they swell and harden
just like the first time,
back when you whispered—
“this is making me wet.”

I remember how ticklish your skin is,
so I’ll press firmly,
my hands steady as they drift lower,
stopping just above the soft hair,
kissing side to side beneath your belly button,
slow, careful.

I know it’s harder now.
Harder for you to grow wet,
harder to let go.
But I can get hard for you—
I want you to feel that.
And if you’ll let me,
I’ll kiss your mound,
breathe your scent,
and gently open you with lips and fingers.
I’ll coax your little bud to show itself,
I’ll part you with care,
and I’ll make you wetter with my mouth.
Not rushing.
Not taking.
Just giving—
backing off if you stiffen,
moving forward if you melt.

I dream of bringing you there again,
of feeling you lose yourself against me,
of hearing your breath catch
the way it once did.
I want to remind you—
you are still mine to love,
and I am still yours to make hard.
If you’ll let me,
I’ll make you come again.