It started with a simple question,
“Why would anyone ever choose to be celibate?”
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.
but we will settle for the fortress of our own home.
And while most couples need but 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 my 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 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
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 open prayers to his saintly fingertips
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
where I’m the designated driver and I vow to make him my stick shift until his engine stutters
and explodes.
By day 4,
with nothing but deliberance in his hard on.
He cums slowly.
Makes a moan like a breeze slipping through heaven’s orchids.
My body crashes in waves at his doorstep,
pen to paper,
ink to quill
He reminds me why poetry was ever invented in the first place.
And saying his name becomes a gospel hymn arched in ecstasy,
Until he is banging my body up against the pearly gates because
Fuck it
sometimes you just want it rough
Poetry aside
Until our sweat drips Salvador Dali into clouds and it’s raining clocks,
7 days can easily melt into seven months.
Either way,
I am saving myself,
because I am well worth the wait.
