Lover, I prepare for you by remembering to breathe. I continuously unclench my jaw. And feel.
I wear French lacy bras, cashmere, and soft pajama pants. Fantasize about my lunch. The colors and textures and tastes of my food. I spend time embracing the parts of me that are unkempt. The wild dark hair. My smell in the morning. The wetness in my mouth when I anticipate. The soft cascade of my breasts. Curves of my belly. And when I tense against life. I open my legs and exhale.
When you are inside of me, I do not want to be wondering about my makeup.
Lover, I prepare for you, by refusing words like “All men….” And “Men are…” I reject concepts that make you less feeling or tender then me. I use my voice to speak positively about your courage and beauty. In front of you and behind your back. And when my disappointment overwhelms me, I sob myself clean. And begin again.
Lover, I prepare for you by using my voice. Directly in a way you can feel. I show you the rage in my eyes. I show you the strength of my desire. And I show you the grief of wanting you. When you do not want yourself.
Lover, I practice being wild. Being all of it. Red lipstick. And sweat. I practice letting myself be hungry. Wanting more. Ripping things apart. Walking away. I practice being “too big.” I practice being alone. Without closing.
Lover, I prepare for you, by being innocent.