It’s your voice,
best heard at pillow distance
for the things I desire to hear at least.
It’s your eyes
even when you hide them.
It’s your skin
against mine, sliding
barely touching then aggressively
pressed to me.
It’s your wetness
on my fingertips
bringing them
to my mouth in anticipation.
It’s your nipples
erect against my chest, my palm,
in my mouth.
It’s the sounds you make.
These are the things that
constitute desire
constitute longing
constitute heart opening
constitute my daily need.
Slut of the Cloth 
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