i prayed for a sign of intimacy. please, touch me, oh god, pretty please? my head was staplegunned to your ribcage which smelled of late june. failing at an attempt to be graceful i pirouetted my fingertips across your chest, only to stop and trace the alphabet. they begged to be swept up by your awkward fingers. to hold eachother, like star-crossed lovers- fated to end tragically. but instead your hand engulfed mine, my heart flipped upside down, finally. you slid my hand mechanically along your red cotton tee and into your jeans.

you never returned the favor.

-grey breifs, always made your legs look splotched