Fingers, lips, skin on skin; all walls destroyed, every barrier broken. The only sounds are those of us breathing and icy December rain beating on the window pane. I thought I would push you away; I thought I would look for any opportunity to escape what I've feared most; intimacy. My fear has never been the act of sex, but the surrender of self that comes with it. Yet I surrender now, inhibitions released, breathing you in like a warm summer breeze.
You run your hand over the white jagged lines on my inner thighs'; the scars on my skin which tell stories of past pain. They are imprints of wounds which have healed, but remain in many ways; wounds caused by myself and those who came and left before you. You don't shy away from them. Your hands are different from those I've felt before; hands reaching to take what I didn't want to give. Yours gently push away my trepidation, making room for gifts I have never received; patience, acceptance, love. I let you in, needing to be as close to you as possible, never wanting it to stop. You whisper that you love me, and for the first time I believe you. There is no pain, only a bliss that I have never known, and will never know again.
I could drink a case of you, darlin',
And I would still be on my feet,
O I would still be on my feet.