If you listen closely to a woman’s body, you’ll realise just how much it sounds like a city, alive in its abundance but sleeping in its ignorance of what magic travels through streets and highways crisscrossing the entirety of its space.
When you place your ears to her wrist, you’ll hear an odd pulse, a jumping, thumping, slow bumping rhythm which continues without any audience, like the conductor holding his baton high and waving, and the music falling and picking itself up again, on and on for as long as the musicians keep playing.
Place your lips where under her skin the blue of her veins looks like the roots of a strange tree with fingers for branches and touches for fruits, feel it pulsate under your skin too, as if it’s a part of you as well, that’s how it’ll feel to have her heart as yours.
When your lips kiss the nape of her neck, leaving goose bumps and flustering skin in their wake, know this is how you listen to her body waking up, turning slowly, drinking in the sunlight of your desires.
When you whisper love into her ears and her earlobes feel the tickle of your tongue, when her breathing changes rhythm, becomes swallower, sharper, know this is how you listen to her acceptance for your longing.
When your hands hold her and slide around the edges of her being, listen closely to the undulating gulps of her throat, how this warmth builds at the tip of her tongue and travels throughout her body, warmth both comfortable and hungry.
When she moans, her voice half woman half wanting, listen to every syllable that breaks from her lips like a yawing winter dawn, let it fill the room, let it reverberate in your ears reminding you of the magic which is unfolding in front of you, inch by inch as she undresses.
Listen to every shiver that wrecks her body, and in it you’ll find the evaluation of intimacy.
Listen to the things she says, the almost lost in passion, gentle ‘hold me closer’, the stern and fierce ‘kiss me’, listen and let them be your guiding beacon tonight.
Listen to the things she doesn’t say, the breathing and the heaving and the unfolding of her body, like a paper puzzle which slowly dissolves into simplicity.
Listen to her body, and you’ll find, she sounds like a city, where many have passed through and left graffiti of their souls on the walls of the subway, but only the lucky ones, get to stay.