Undress Me With

"Undress Me"

Don’t take off your clothes yet

I want to undress your silence.

Unbutton the guarded places in your voice,

let me hear what your past has whispered

when no one else was listening.

Undress me with your truth

Let me press my palms

against the windows of your thoughts,

watch how the light changes

when you speak of your dreams,

the ones that never made it past the paper.

The ones too wild, too tender

for the world’s blunt hands.

I want to touch you where no fingers go

in the cathedral of your mind,

where your logic meets your longing.

Show me how you think,

how you build your truths

like bridges

even when your own weight

is too much to bear.

Your soul…

I want to taste the pages of your becoming.

Read your story aloud

until I forget where my breath ends

and yours begins.

Trace your pain with my presence,

not to fix it

just to witness its shape,

hold it like something sacred,

because it is.

Tell me about your mother.

Tell me what broke you,

what mended you imperfectly.

Tell me what makes you kneel,

and what still makes you rise.

I want to know the poems you never wrote

because they were too close to your marrow.

Speak them to me now,

with eyes closed if you must,

and I will memorize each syllable

like scripture.

This isn’t about the body,

but how the soul dances when seen

naked in the light of full understanding.

So no

don’t take off your clothes just yet.

Let me first know

what makes your spirit arch,

what makes your intellect sigh,

what kind of kiss

your heart has been aching for.

Then,

only then,

touch me with all that truth.

And I will receive you

like prayer

You...

You don’t touch me with your hands,

you unravel me with syllables,

like soft fingers tracing the spine

of my hidden thoughts.

Your voice

a slow drip of honey on the raw edge of my day,

coaxing my guard down,

button by button, layer by layer,

until I’m standing naked in the quiet

of your knowing.

You undress my mind.

Not just the surface.

No

You pull at the threads of my thoughts,

gently,

like a lover untying silk ribbons,

unfolding the origami corners

of the secrets I didn’t know I folded.

Your creativity

a flame that doesn’t burn,

but melts,

leaving trails of vulnerability

slipping down the contours of my intellect.

You paint pictures in the hollows of my chest

where loneliness used to echo.

You speak

and metaphors kiss my mental skin

.

You imagine

and I moan in revelation.

There is no shame here.

Only a full-body yes,

to the way you see me

beneath the polished lines,

the curated calm.

You write,

and I open.

You create,

and I surrender.

Because when you speak

you don’t just talk.

You touch.

And baby,

your talent is the most delicious kind of foreplay.

So say more.

Create more.

Strip me,

again.

Not of clothes,

but of constraint

and I’ll meet you,

mind wide,

soul bare,

where our truths intertwine

in the intimacy of imagination.

Undress me with all of who you are.