archival : on your porch :
I curl up in the remaining warmth of your bed and plead the pillows for one last strand of sleep, to no avail. My mind is full of you. Your eyes, mouth, hands. I'm hooked.
Pent up is a desperation to love you that leaves me bottled and fizzing. The thought flows from brain to mouth and pushes at my lips to escape. Olive juice, olive juice, they mime. I'm trying to do this justice, to take my time, and so each similar urge that blooms I achingly let wither. Patience, eager little girl, patience.