You could fuck me until I am bruised and blue, and panting your name into the edges of the mattress, but you still have not seen me naked. You could worship every inch of my skin, map every curve with your tongue, but you still won’t know every fold of my body. You could lay your hands and read the train tracks of scars on my flesh, but you’ll still not have read every word I have kept sacred in my heart. You could read every scripture and translation of my body, but until you have read what I’ve written, you will not know me. My words, the subtleties of my tongue, my hopes and dreams, my frustrations and longings, the pounding of my heart splattered on blank paper – this is as exposed and naked as you will ever see me.