I took your large hand and raised it.
Just this, I said, the tip of a finger or two –
just to the nail or so – into my mouth, which
had dreamed of just that. You made a sound
I hoped was a gasp and I wanted – as I
had for 30 years – to do it: open my
mouth and take your two large fingers all
the way inside my throat, the size of them
filling me. But I stopped, in shame and desire –
I blush writing – because you said we would
say goodbye inside my rental car outside
your hotel: Even now, days later, miles apart,
I am hungry for such thick and full.