Dichotomy

He takes my hand; my right hand, in his left.
Mine over his, fingers linked.
A partnership, intertwined, together.
Still our fingers move independently.

You take my hand; my right hand, in your left.
Mine under yours, you cover mine.
Protective, possessive, in control.
Unmoving, gently in your grasp.

He puts an arm around me, loosely.
A link, resting light on my back.
Guiding me, telegraphing movement.
Our strides adjusting to each other.

You put your arm around me, firmly.
Support, wrapped tight around my waist.
A signal, telegraphing intention to others.
My stride slows to yours.

He kisses me, easy and familiar.
He smiles, his eyes crinkling.
Lips melded together, warming me.
Comfortable, like my own skin.

You kiss me, electric and alive.
You hypnotize, your eyes smoldering.
Lips searching, exploring, giving me chills.
Breathtaking, like the first time.

He touches me; fingers tender on my skin.
Tracing old patterns from memory.
Calming, soothing, caressing.
A gentle path to satisfaction.

You touch me; fingers firm on my skin.
Revisiting, and making new.
Searching, probing, insistent.
Pleasing, but leaving me hungry for more.

He tastes me; tongue gentle and inquisitive.
Sweet, concentrated pleasure.
Circling, teasing, tempting.
A preparation for the rest of his attentions.

You taste me; your mouth possessing.
Exploring all, even places untasted.
Consuming, devouring, inhaling me.
A wet, silky explosion of confused nerves.

I am a temple; he enters me with reverence.
His worship scripted, remembered.
Careful, controlled, precision.
Beckoning, coaxing each gentle wave.

I am a wilderness; you enter me bent on conquest.
Your journey savage and unpredictable.
Desperate, dominant, persistent.
Demanding every shudder, every aftershock.

Spent, he lays beside me, stroking my arm.
Watching for approval, satisfaction, release.
He cleans me, restores me, taking away the traces of himself.
Cradling me in the position I chose.

Spent, you lay beside me, stroking my hip.
Absorbing me, smiling at the wet traces of our passion.
Wanting to smell, touch, and taste yourself on me again and again.
You gather me possessively against your chest.

Pleasure and love.
In different forms.
Distinct, unique, individual.
In one way or another,
Both mine.