Soft Hands, Filthy Mouth
You touch me like I am made of something breakable
fingertips tracing slow along my ribs
Palm warm on my stomach, thumb drawing lazy circles
calming down the panic and the fibs
Your voice stays low, steady, asking “is this alright
slower, more
or less?” Then you lean close to my ear and say something so dirty it stops the breath in my chest.
You look like the kind of person who says “please” and “thank you” to strangers and actually means it
The one parents adore, the one friends trust
the one who keeps a secret and never screens it
Yet under the covers your tongue is pure trouble
painting pictures that would get us kicked out of the pew
You narrate exactly what you want to do
and the sweet act disappears from view.
Soft hands, filthy mouth
that combination wrecks me worse than any rough stunt
You hold my face like you are afraid I might vanish
then tell me exactly how you plan to hunt
Sweet on the surface, savage underneath
you kiss my forehead and then turn my knees to water
Soft hands, filthy mouth
the gentlest storm to ever hit this quarter.
You stop mid-kiss to tuck my hair back
ask if the lighting is okay
if my leg still hurts from the fall
Then you drop back down to my neck and murmur lines that would make a sinner crawl
You never push without checking
never grab without warning
never take silence for a yes, Still
you talk me through plans in a calm tone like you’re reading a story
but leaving nothing to guess.
I used to think I wanted someone hard all over
rough from fingers to voice
Turns out soft palms and a dirty mind are the only real choice
Better than some kid acting tough and trashing the bed
I’ll take the gentle touch and the twisted words in my head.
Soft hands, filthy mouth
that combination wrecks me worse than any rough stunt
You hold my face like you are afraid I might vanish
then tell me exactly how you plan to hunt
Sweet on the surface, savage underneath
you kiss my forehead and then turn my knees to water
Soft hands, filthy mouth
the gentlest storm to ever hit this quarter.
After
when my pulse finally slows and the room stops tilting left and right
You pull the blanket up, tuck it around me
kiss my shoulder in the dim light, Ask about my day
my back, my worries
and somehow that care hits as hard as the talk
I realize this is what safe feels like: a place where I can be wrecked
and still walk the walk. I don’t need a monster to make me shake
I need a kind person with a tongue that knows how to bite
Soft hands, filthy mouth
I found the sweet spot between the dark and the light.