With What Right?

With what right do you enter my dreams, my love?

Her:
You trace my skin like a silent whisper,
claiming spaces I didn’t know were yours.
Skin on skin, warmth stirring beneath the sheets.
Your breath, soft and steady, grazes my neck.
Tell me, by what right
do you command my every breath, my every shiver?
We were meant to be fleeting,
a brief spark of desire,
burning bright, then fading.
But my body,
without asking,
learned the rhythm of your touch.

Me:
Defying reason, you're here,
pressed against my skin,
piercing through to my very core.
And against all my restraint,
I’m here,
drinking you in,
our bodies tangled in sheets,
your breath filling my lungs.
A thousand cries of desire—
I hear you.

My hands trace familiar paths,
finding their way to places that ache for your touch.
Even in dreams, I claim you,
pressing closer, pulling you deeper,
a silent dance in the shadows of sleep.

Her:
Who allowed you
to sink into my chest?
Who gave you permission
to map out my soul,
to stir my heart awake,
and kindle fires where none had been?
You fill me with a need
I never knew existed.

My body trembles,
helpless beneath the weight of your presence,
and without meaning to,
my lips seek yours,
surrendering to a pull beyond reason.

Me:
My body answers, slow and gentle,
responding to the heat that blooms between us.
I feel you—half dream, half desire—
and in this quiet surrender, we merge,
moving together as if our bodies know no other way.

You move closer,
slowly, deliberately,
as if time itself pauses to witness this moment.
Every inch of me knows the way,
and you open, soft as the night,
ready to welcome the weight of my desire.

Her:
But this was meant to end,
a passing storm we thought we’d outlast.
But instead,
my senses broke the rules,
binding me to this moment,
to you.

The first touch is electric,
a tremor that starts deep,
spreading like fire across my skin.
You enter me,
and in that instant, the world narrows to this—
the space between us,
where we are no longer two,
but something singular, something whole.

Each movement is a symphony,
a rhythm played in silence,
building, cresting, until we lose ourselves
in the wave of each other.

Her:
It begins as a whisper,
a tremor deep within,
growing slowly, a spark
that ignites everything it touches.

Me:
I respond to your command,
like a machine driving deep,
carving into the earth,
moving without pause,
as you whisper, please don’t stop.

Her:
Your body tightens,
every nerve alive,
as waves of pleasure build,
rising higher.

Me:
My hairy body is drenched in sweat,
the bed knocking against the wall,
loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
And then,
in an instant,
you shatter—
a release so complete,
so powerful,
the world dissolves around you.
Your muscles tremble,
your heart races,
and you’re swept away
on a tide of ecstasy,
lost in the blinding,
aching,
perfect surge of pleasure.

Her:
Here it comes again,
harder—don't stop!
And you hide your face,
ashamed of the pleasure.

Me:
And I feel your release once again,
like I’m blessed with rain.

Her:
Right now, I grab your neck.
Look into my eyes while I move,
stay still, don’t move.

Me:
Your eyes look so wicked,
like I’m about to faint.
Your nails dig into my neck,
I try to look away—

Her:
Don’t.
Don’t look away.

Me:
With your other hand,
you strike me hard,
a fit so strong I can’t even breathe.
That’s when you tighten, pressing me—
I couldn’t stop it.
You bite my ear, then whisper:

Her:
You are mine.