Mostly I only care about days like this
Sewing our bodies together for hours at a time
practicing bondage, listening to tea kettles whistle, and filling the room with a cloud of smoke
You make the handful of pills feel like nothing compared to what you do to the pit of my stomach.
The air conditioner doesn’t work, our house must be 85 degrees;
but I’m still as close to you as I could be and I clench my jaw in hopes that you won’t move
We still make out to French music and that excites me endlessly