He doesn’t like to cuddle. He likes to grip my hips and touch my lips, But only when it suits him. He sticks his head out my window because its too hot in my room and he doesn't like the sound of my fan easy.Breath.caffeine.breeze. We laugh quietly and kiss quietly and moan quietly. He mouths vulgar things that make me giggle in front of our friends. I run my hand along the seam off his far too expensive shorts We take every opportunity to be with each other to talk , to feel, so secretly. So public. Exhibitionist pleasure. We talk night after night rapidly and vigorously and trip over each others sentences like a sidewalk crack. He says “her” like it means “amen” i say “us” pretending i could be them.We get drunk off of music and skin and things we love. His smile erupts across his face like it could shatter his cheekbones. His eyes glimmer like a lake catching the glare of the moonlight.He loves to be so much taller than me. He thinks it makes him wiser. We spend a lot of time in my room with the doors shut. (We spend a lot of time outside of my room with our mouths shut.) I always wake up first. I lay there looking at him Vulnerable and quiet with the occasional sleep talk. Soft face. Soft sounds.We bond over love for our friends We fight over who gets the corner in my bed.
We tease and We kiss, ooh we kissed.
He loves classical music. We listen in silence.I sit on his stomach and laugh maniacally and pout my lips when he won’t be fair.
He is my occasional constant.
i think i'm falling in love with him.
I think he's fallen for her.
Not mine.
