A Lover's Sketch

We met at a lecture and talked about art, our pasts, and love.  
The young student asked if he could draw me, and I said yes.  
 
I lie prone on my bed, eyes closed while he sketches.  
I feel his eyes and my body hums with a quiver centered on my cunt.  
I am soft and open like a flower, realizing I am wet as if  
this confirmed that I’m still among the living.
I feel like a child whose differentiation from the world is
being affirmed in the soft scratching of a young artist’s pencil.
 
After a few minutes, the pencil was quiet.  
I kept my eyes closed, completely still.  
His warm tongue began tracing my feet and then my legs.  
Was he memorizing every edge and contour of my body?
I hope he will remember me.  
The next morning I found his sketch next to my bed.