Let’s make out like we’re lovers from the 60’s. We’ll start it slowly. So slow and soft. Then I’ll pull you close to me because I’ll crave for more. I’ll always want more. I feel like a ticking nuclear bomb when I finally have you for myself. You kill me. We’ll thrust against each other and I’ll cover your ears with my calloused palms while we’re kissing to make my lips your only sense. I’ll make you moan while I rub your back. Don’t wear jewelry because I’ll take them off anyway. Your beauty doesn’t match diamonds and rubies. You belong in a beautiful garden where wildflowers will be coronated in your hair. Don’t open your eyes. I want your lips crashing hard to me like I came back from the dead. Tease me. But know that loving you has been my medicine to sadness. I wanna do this in an art gallery, baby. You in?
—a.s., “art and you” (via mossyribs)
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MY PERFECT HOME
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