For the space between my legs.

For the space between my legs. For the space between my legs. Sometimes I imagine a mouth with no purpose except where I need it most. My hijab stays close, eyes lowered, lips curved into something I never explain. The anklet moves higher when my legs open a little more than before. It turns me on knowing someone would give everything just to stay there. No questions, no movement, just waiting until I allow. I wouldn’t need to speak, my stillness would be enough. I like the thought of someone held down by how little I give. Kept beneath me until my breath forgets to behave. Even when I stand, I know the mouth would stay right there, unsure if it had pleased me or just been allowed.