Your tongue is in my mouth in the kitchen at the party.
Why the fuck am I at the party?
My dress is too tight for you to get your hands under,
but I left my panties at home tonight
and I’m dripping down my thighs.
My lipstick is smeared and there are people
probably staring
but fuck them anyway.
It’s been a year and a half
of throwing glances in hallways,
and my hair standing on every end when you appear
and breathe down my neck
(so tell me, how the fuck I’m supposed to keep my cool)
So we leave for one night and it turns into ve mornings.
Waking up and staying in bed for a couple extra hours
so I can see what color your еyes are
in that special light wе only see at 6 a.m.
That silver peeking through the cracks
around your blackout shades
and bouncing o your brown eyes
that send me into a fully caffeinated rush
Like they’re soaked in coee grinds
and I can see the steam rising o of their surface
when your gaze sets me on fire.
So we turn up the heat again.
And your sweat is dripping off your chest
and your open fist is around my neck
and I’m grinding into your lap,
rocking my hips against your weight
to match the ins and outs of your breathing.
(Can you tell that this is the pattern I’m following?
Your breathing quickens…)
Your teeth are in my skin
and you’re pulling bers of tissue from my lips and I wonder,
If I bleed, will you like the taste?
Now we’re driving down the highway
and my head is in your lap.
Tasting the salt of your skin
and feeling you grow in my mouth
and the hum of the engine
is like a million fingertips between my legs.
There are people passing by in their cars unaware
and unassuming
but I’m praying they’ll look over and watch me worship you.
Watch me work
to assure
that there is not a single millimeter of space in my mouth
that isn’t lled.
Your hair falls out of place
and you clutch the wheel
and press your belt into my cheek.
I hope it leaves a mark.
And days later my tongue feels
like it doesn’t fit in my mouth the same without you in it.
It’s your laugh, and your calculating eyes.
Your wrinkled brows and the static in your grin
when you can’t think of the right words to say
and I know it frustrates you
because words are the only thing
you’ve ever had total control over.
It’s the feeling in my stomach
like the moment
you drop a scoop of ice cream
into a root beer float
and the entire thing threatens to bubble over.
Carbonated
and chaotic
in my chest.
It’s the sheer comfort.
You’re as vibrant as a stranger,
but as warm as a friend.
Like every day
I get reintroduced to someone I’ve known my whole life.
Like meeting myself in a mirror.
The way you take over my entire body
and mind
like you’re putting your own personal lter over the lens of my life
so that I see it in your colors.
And my hands shake
and I swallow hard
when I realize how much nicer life looks in your saturation.
My brain buzzing
like the rattle of a neon light
at odd hours of the night
when I’m pacing
and wringing my hands,
counting the days till I see your face again.
And the irony in how fine life seemed before.
How quickly you made it seem like
nothing
would ever suce
without you,
a part of it.
Why the fuck was I at the party?
