ur sleeping on the couch

density and SINcity haha *finger guns*

perhaps in the moment i shouldn't have been thinking of the poetry scribbled between your bones; my knees on either side of your hips, your hands tangled in my hair- my lips, hot & wet, pressed to your neck. i moved, whispering into your ear. what did i say? you are art, i'd said, tasting honey laced with love in each syllable- you'd tilted your head back, moaning. but this wasn't dirty talk, this wasn't teenage heat, this was the truth, this was heaven sent. perhaps in the moment, i should have said something to do with all the things i wanted to do to you, how i was going to make an angel beg for release

 (and later at church probably for forgiveness)

those thoughts manifested, yes, but not as easily as those three words. you, are, art. i wondered. i wondered if my lips, if my body, if my words- i wondered if they'd add on, if they'd add to the masterpiece. were they as beautiful as the colors you want to paint your life with? were they just smudges on a painting you didn't want me to see? what are we creating here, lover? 

whatever it is, its art to me- and art should be loved, cherished, and pinned to a wall.