Sharp Enough

A love letter from a knife...

I love the way I get to rest on your body all the time. In the crook of your ribs, bouncing underneath your underboob. Warm, sometimes sweaty, always hot - even when my metal is freezing cold in the winter.

The way your strong, soft, yet calloused hand moves on my handle. We were made for each other. No one else’s hand could feel this good or fit this well. Before I even knew you existed, I was made for you.

And when you need me, I’m always here for you. You picked out the nicest, sexiest, coziest sheath in which I live. You pull me out swiftly and deftly.

You sharpen and polish me. You use me and you use me hard and I love it.

I love the way your fingers glide over my D2 steel caressing the sharpest edge. Checking to see if I’m sharp enough. You find you need to sharpen me and you put on your sexy librarian glasses so you can see that edge as you grind me into the stone over and over again.

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Subscribe to see a photo of the sheath. It's different than the ones that hang straight down from a belt...