i like a slow fuck. a life-long stroke. a decades-deep penetration of presence.

sex is cool but have you ever
had one woman
become every element?
earth when she holds you,
fire when she rides,
air when she moans,
water when she cries,
into your chest;
and you
stay long enough
to become fluent
in them all?

call it outdated,
but i’m the kind of man
who wants to grow old
wrinkled beside the woman
whose moans taught me
how to pray again.

loyalty is the sexiest rebellion on earth.

divine union isn’t about possession.
it’s about obsession
with the sacredness of
staying through the storm
and making love in the rubble.

devotion is my favorite form of dirty talk.

nothing gets me harder
than the soft power of a woman
who knows she’s the only one.

what if romance wasn’t about roses
but about regulation?
about becoming the breath
her trauma never got to take?
about finally slowing down enough
that her nervous system whispers,
“we made it.”

the masculine urge
to let her throne be my face.

everyone wants the thrill of the first kiss.
but do you know the tremble
of kissing someone
like it’s your first time
after ten thousand kisses?

you know what turns me on?
fantasizing about her body
decades from now,
when we’ve both
got laugh lines so deep
they feel like canyons
carved by god
to pour more love through.
that’s not just erotic.
that’s eternal.
that’s every cell of me
asking to be buried
next to every cell of her.

the masculine urge
to crown her pleasure as law.

i want to spend the rest of my life
learning how to listen
to the way her body sings
when she finally feels safe enough
to scream.

i offer my fidelity like roses at her feet.

her love is not a leash.
it’s a liberation from the lie
that a man must taste many
to feel full.

her scent lives in my lungs.

i’m from the kind of place
where people don’t talk about sex,
but everybody’s secretly writing
country songs about it.
and god help me,
she’s the chorus
i keep coming back to.

the south didn’t teach me monogamy.
it taught me how to burn
for someone so fully
you forget
how to look left or right.

maybe it’s my southern drawl
that makes my tongue slow down
only for her.

i'm from tennessee,
where love ain’t a trend.
it’s a worn-in pair of hands
that learned how to stay.

my grandad taught me
that if you’re lucky enough to find a woman
who makes you feel like god remembered
to kiss your soul awake,
you don’t go looking for more.
you build a porch
big enough to worship her on.