The way you move against me even when I’m not there and you are lost
no, not lost, just
a little unwilling to be found,
shudder, sigh and a lisping fan sputters the honesty we couldn’t
my hand feels for how soft you are, yearns for it, my ribcage melts under the pressure of everything you keep demanding from me
taking more, taking more
and sometimes the games end in sweaty limbs huddled next to each other, hoping the fire in the room won’t singe the eyelashes from our bodies.