I want his body crushed against mine,
but it’s not.
I want his hand between my legs,
but it’s not.
He’s close, but not close enough.
His body is skimming mine, teasing,
his cologne soaking the air around me.
I rake my fingers up his scalp
and into his hair.
He only kisses me deeper,
fuller,
pouring himself into me.
As if it weren’t just with lips and tongue
but with his whole body.
It’s just a kiss.
Like Brandon’s kiss was just a kiss.
This is what I tell myself.
But it’s not just a kiss.
Not at all.
My mouth parts,
and he whispers into it, voice shredded,
“I ain't even lost. I’m so fuckin’ found right now. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doin’. Can’t think. I just—fuck—I got no words.”
Then he’s kissing me again,
like that’ll explain it better.
“Swear to God, I could keep kissin’ you
“andkissin’you…
“andkissin’you…”
Then his mouth’s back on mine,
and I feel it andfeelit,
warmth sliding its fingers through me.
