the way you look at me

I like the way you look at me

like you are happy with just me.

I like how I can’t stop staring back—

eyes heavy, brain empty,

just you.

you fit against me like comfort

I want to pull you in close,

feel your breath in my ear,

feel all of you,

your skin sweating against mine,

real.

when I drink, I think of you bent over,

your hair falling, back arching, thrusting,

your body begging for something I haven’t given yet.

I want to taste the salt of you,

lick the edge of your hunger,

slide my tongue where you start shaking.

I want to eat you out slow,

then faster,

then not at all—

just to watch you beg.

I want your ass in my hands,

the kind of grip that makes the neighbors listen.

I want to fall asleep half inside you,

wake up to your smell,

your legs wrapped around me like we survived something.

I want to sit naked by a fire with you,

drink cheap wine,

talk about nothing,

and then fuck again.

I want to climb mountains with you,

watch the cold bite our skin,

then warm up in some motel room,

still smelling like snow and sex.

you’re kind to me.

I’m kind to you.

that’s the dangerous part.

with you I don’t feel alone.

I just feel—

wild, seen,

like maybe this is what being alive is supposed to feel like.

if I died in that moment,

still inside you,

breathing your name—

that’d be alright.