I left a scribbled list of regrets on the cracked coffee table, waking up before the eagerness to see you kept me from creeping to the door. We both knew, at least I knew, this day would crawl out of the deep well of a March morning, mourning the memory of your satin skin rubbing to sweet sweat pooling beneath your pale legs. The keys in the fucking door jarred a downpour. Your thunderous lungs rattled off our shared dreams, shaking my chest and lust for what’s unwritten. What you knew that I didn’t know is I couldn’t leave the intoxicating taste of your cherry lips.
(© 2022 AC)