“More than a handful is a waste” always worried me;
I am more than a handful in so many ways.
Ample tits and ass—I was once told that the attraction was primal,
that no man could instinctually resist such child-bearing hips.
And just as primal, the way you’d reach for me in the night.
A handful was now a mouthful and it was more than enough.
Your head between my legs, hands reaching for my thighs—
“My perfect girl with her perfect body.”
Nothing was wasted. I was to be feasted on and worshipped,
the sacrificial virgin for your ego and mine.
I was happy to die many little deaths.
I was more than enough.
