We cuddle on colder nights and warmer days. I like to grip his hips and pull the fibers of pink tissue in shreds from his lip with my teeth. easy. breathe. breeze. We laugh loudly and kiss loudly and moan loudly. I mouth vulgar things that make him giggle in front of strangers. I run my hand along the seam off his jeans beneath the table top. He rolls his eyes and smirks at me. We take every opportunity to touch, to feel. So secretly. So public. Exhibitionist pleasure. I run my fingers through his hair while he drives. The street light shines though the sunroof and hits my nails and diamonds and they twinkle but not as bright as his eyes. We play like children, tousling my hair and I climb on his chest. We talk and talk all night long and trip over each others sentences like a sidewalk crack. He says “us” like it means “amen” and his eyes burn wild with a fire of passion. We get drunk in the bathtub. Off of wine and skin and things we love. His smile erupts across his face like it could shatter his cheekbones. His hazel eyes. They glimmer like a lake catching the glare of the moonlight. I always wake up first. I sit on the bed and work quietly and glance at him in the sheets. Vulnerable and quiet. Soft face. Soft sounds. A warm cup of coffee and marmalade light through the windows. We bond over love for our passions. We fight over long work hours. Passions, work. We tease, oh we tease. He likes clean socks and hair and he runs his fingers down my décolleté with a grin. I wear his name on my wrist. He grabs a fistful of my hair and presses my face against his neck. He loves music. I tap my fingers like spiders legs across his bare chest and undo his zippers one by one. I toss my head back and laugh maniacally and pout my lips when he won’t be fair. He speaks like a pastor and I trip over my words, my tongue struggles to meet his brain. That’s how a prodigy thinks. (Or it’s the drugs in my old case). He knows when my words are about him and he lets it all go to his head and I don’t care because I love to watch him love himself. We laugh and fuck and play and write and plot and never worry. He is my constant keeper. A parody of himself. A paradox of ever present and transparent. I don’t care what he is. We promise to walk the walk until the end. I’ve found a lover and a friend. -THE END-
