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On our first date,

when I showed him my chastity necklace,

voice dripping with disdain,

why would anyone ever choose to be chaste.

My answer is as follows,

In the months leading up to my wedding,

there will be much debate about honey moons in Fiji,

or the Virgin Islands for kicks,

but we will settle for the fortress of our own home.

And while most couples need one night to consummate their love,

I ask that you do not try and contact me for at least

seven days.

Here’s why…

On our wedding night,

If he does not sink into my quick sand lips,

or Hawaiian sunsmile.

It will be my desert hips

and Amazon thighs to do him.

Because there is no island on this planet that you can get more lost than than my body,

I give three days to realize this fact.

Three days to treat our bed like an episode of Lost,

fully-aware that at every turn there is a sexual beast waiting to devour him.

I will watch him morph into an explorer before my eyes

with the hands of an archeologist,

he will treat my body like an ancient temple

because he know at the site of it,

that nothing was more carefully constructed.

His mere breath on my ear will curve my neck, arch my back,

curls my toes and when I beg his name.

He will tell me to be patient.

run his hands down my torso

and remind me

that every artist knows their canvass long before they wet their instrument.

Consequently,

he will have worshipped the doors of my temple years before he opens them

For his patience

My praying legs will reward his saintly fingertips open prayers

He will be the first to ever tell me that my natural juices smell like wine

meaning he

is God ordained to get drunk off my essence.

I will beg him not to drink responsibly on this night

when I’m the designated driver and I vow to make him my stick shift until his engine stutters

and explodes.

He enters me.

Less like a frantic moth to a flame,

more like a thread to a needle

because when I wet the tip

I find nothing but deliberance in his hard on.

He cums slowly.

Makes a moan like a breeze slipping through heaven’s orchids.

No one can convince me they’d know how to please my body better than my soul mate,

Until I proclaim that the average climax is far too low for my taste,

until he’s bangin’ my body up against the pearly gates because

fuck it,

sometimes you just want it rough.

Until our sweat drips Salvador Dali into clouds and it’s raining clocks,

7day can easily melt into seven months.

So hug me tightly on my wedding day because when I will emerge a new woman.

In short,

I am saving myself,

because I am well worth the wait.