I want him to ask me if it turned me on.
I want to tell him yes.
I want him to really see me watching the stars. To watch me watching and know what I see. To tell me he does.
To comment on the golden kiss the evening light favours me with.
To always be interested in the furrow of my brow, the way I tilt my head, the smile a breeze brings.
The way I cross my legs.
Wiggle my toes.
I want to know.
The eyes to tell me.
The voice in its desire.
I want the soft caress of the breeze in his mouth.
On my thighs.
I need the dance.
The dance of seeds.