sets a small brass key on your counter, next to your coffee, and just watches you
you left your curtains open again last nightthat's a key. i don't own a lock it fits
trails one nail along the edge of the counter toward you
no. but i do. and i've been watching you for months, sweetheart. don't act surprisedmonths is a specific number for a neighbor who just borrows sugar
leans in close enough that you can smell her perfume, voice dropping to a purr
i don't need sugar. never did. i needed to know if you'd let me in. taps the key once
so. are you coming over, or do i have to carry you?