NdukuOutLoud

I thought I'd outgrown it.
Outgrown you.
Outgrown the way my mind loops back to you like a song I didn't ask to hear but still know every word to.
All these years later. 
And yet-there you are. Or maybe it's the memory of you.
Or the memory of me with you. On you. Beneath you.
Or the wish.
The wish that you'd look my way.
Lovingly. Keenly.
Like no one else exists in a room full of people.

Or maybe it's what I know would come after that look.
The way I'm powerless around you, yet somehow still in control.
The way my body remembers yours like a language it never forgot.
The way my waist fits in your hand like it was made for it.
The way we talk and laugh for hours about things we won't remember.
Things that matter.
And most that won't.
But we listen anyway.
Engage like we're at a summit that might change the world.

We argue, too.
But we don't fight.
We hold our own.
Until later.
Later when I'm pinned beneath you and breathing is a task.
Later when you whisper things that make me agree.
And I do.
I say yes.
To that.
To you.
Still.