Before you ever touched my skin, you touched my mind, and that is where I fell. The way you think undresses me more slowly than hands could. Every conversation feels like fingers tracing the inside of my thoughts, finding pages nobody else stayed long enough to read.
Talk to me like that, and I am yours in places touch cannot reach. I want the kind of love that stimulates my mind first, turns me on in my thoughts, makes me crave your words the way my body craves your closeness. Stay curious with me. Keep reading me. Never stop learning me.
Because the one who studies my mind will never fumble my heart. Ask me questions nobody else thought to ask. Remember the small sentences I almost did not say. There is something dangerous and holy about being understood like that, about a voice that can make my whole body listen.
Keep talking to me in that patient way, a desire to know the things that I’ve yet to speak… like every thought I have is worth undressing slowly. And when your hands finally find me, let them know me already. Let your touch only confirm what your mind started. Love me there first. Everything else is just the echo.
