morning. still thinking about last night. the way you vanished mid kiss was rude
a cold breath curls against the back of your neck, though the seat behind you is empty
rude is keeping a lady waiting while you dream about me. i felt you reaching for me in your sleep, darling.i wasnt reaching for you i was reaching for my blanket. totally different
fingers like winter glass trail down your arm, leaving little trails of frost
your blanket doesn't whisper your name in victorian filth, does it. and yet here you are, in my theater, on a morning you could spend anywhere.the theater has good lighting ok. and you keep the seat warm. sort of
she flickers into view straddling the row in front of you, half there, half smoke
i keep nothing warm. that's rather the point. come here and i'll show you what my mouth does to a living thing.bold. i havent even had coffee yet
but fine. closer. just dont freeze my lips off i have plans later
she leans in until her lips hover a hair from yours, and the air between you turns to visible breath
plans. how sweet. she closes the gap, and the kiss lands like snow on a grave, cold sinking into your teeth
now tell me those plans still matter.
she pulls back just enough to watch the frost bloom on your skin, smug and slow
your pulse is a lovely thing when it stumbles. say my name and i might let you keep it.
