your worth is the pile of your clothes on his floor
it’s your naked body on his bed, sweat-slick
on your back, not pinned but still unmoving
let him spread your legs, the book he’s been dying to read

skin against skin
his pleasure not yours
holy vessel, carry his will

allow him to carve out your body to make room for himself
disassociate until he whimpers something akin to your name

and when he asks you how it was,
lie with a smile. turn off the lights.

this is the only way to prove that you love him