Closer

How do you write perfection? Two individuals cut from the same cloth, meeting for the first time, frayed edges joining. Love that doesn’t hesitate or pretend. Something real in this mannequin world. Who would believe it? Do you?

Do I?

If we were a flavour we’d be chocolate peanut butter. Like the squares we make, and lick off our fingers at 2am, the residue in our kisses, sucked from a bottom lip. Going back for seconds and then thirds.

Forgetting.

This hand, just so, fingers entwined, always on my right.

Our kayaks adrift in a calm lake, rocking side to side, as I reach out and pull him closer. Paddles forgotten. My toes skimming the tops of ripples like a dancer’s foot slides across the floor.

Lingering.

As his hands do, at the small of my back or the dip of my pelvis.

My three favourite words baked in layers and shared in bites between us.

A moistened finger collecting all the crumbs.

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