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I kind of need Stack Moore to walk into my bedroom, ACG boots thumping softly against the wooden floorboards.
I need the doors to croak a little under the weight of his heavy hands, that little huff as the door clicks shut behind him.
I need his hand resting on the back of my neck, before I can turn around and get a good look at him.
I need the glint of his watch as he reaches into his waistband, and the sound of his gun landing gently on my dresser.
I need the smell of his last blunt and his cologne floating around me.
I need the sliver of light cascading in from the street, illuminating the man of the hour as he makes his way to my bed.
I need his gold chain dangling by my chin as he whispers in my ear.
“Wassup, baby.”
Or something… idk🤷🏽♀️