Opening a woman should be like opening the finest book of poetry, the most lovely book you’ve ever owned. You take care with the spine of the book, working not to crack it, ever diligent about its condition. You turn the wispy thin pages slowly, savoring each one.

A woman should be savored. Each piece of her is a delight, an ever-changing story to unfold.

How will she react when I touch her here? Here? Maybe here?

What words will bring her to her knees in desire?

What tone will make her breathless?

Read her carefully, thoughfully, and you will receive bountiful rewards. Care not for the words written across her thighs, her belly, the small of her back, and you will not fully understand her, cannot fully appreciate her.

Open her like a fine book of literature, feeling each honey-dipped word dripping off of your tongue.

—

Decade
Amy Lowell

When you came, you were like red wine and honey,
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread,
Smooth and pleasant.
I hardly taste you at all for I know your savour,
But I am completely nourished.