Page 16 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

My coat peels away.

Next, my sweatshirt.

My jeans and panties hit the floor.

His knees crash at my feet.

His hands grab my knees,

and he spreads me open,

head lowering until his tongue's sliding through everything he's craved.

I sink into the couch, eyes falling shut.

But behind my lids, Andrew’s still there.

All of him, haunting and ghost-heavy,

still fucking inside me...

He’s still on top of me.

All of him tangled up

in all of me.

That’s how I wake up:

clinging to him,

surrounded by him,

guarded by him.

I’m five-three and drowning

under six feet of boy.

He’s dead asleep and dreaming with his face pressed to my temple, breath catching in the strands, one arm flung wide across the bed, the other hand curled against my scalp, fingers lost in my hair.

And his chest, it’s everywhere, spilling over, moving with mine, as if we’ve been sharing the same set of lungs since midnight.

And I feel his cock, hot and heavy, tucked between my thighs, using my pussy for a pillow to rest its head, as if I'm a safe place.

As if I’m going to keep him.

But I don’t keep things.

Even when I want to.

And I want to keep him, I do.

There's something about us.

It’s more than like,

but it’s not love.