I like it.
Waking to the creak of my bedroom window opening,
A soft slide and your boot lands next to my hip,
Birds sing early summer,
The heat not yet rising,
Not yet rising, but close.
Your up-all-night hands,
Grimy, smelling of cigarettes and other girls,
Lift the painted sash,
Wallet chain slinging,
Knocking against the sill,
I stretch but keep my eyes shut,
Faux sleep so you can throw your long body over me,
Wake me with your hand between my legs,
Your teeth marking my shoulder,
Your thighs binding me, holding me still,
I am waking, waking for you.