Wondering At Your Touch

I often wonder what it is you see
When you look down and have me raise my head;
With your fist underneath my chin, I'll be
Anticipating words yet to be said;
And, when they are expressed, I hope I'll hear
The passion in your voice that so controls
My thoughts; when I am kneeling, I may fear
Missing a single syllable; our roles
Are juxtaposed: with you, of course, in charge;
And me, obedient, as your thumb slips
Across my lipstick, which is, by and large,
The usual way our sessions start; my lips
Cannot be licked by tongue, without your touch;
I sometimes wonder if this is too much.