Silk, Sheer, Smudge.

I said myself that we have to go searching for our words- so the search begins. Today’s words are: silk, sheer and smudge.

She wears a pink silk slip. She’s in my room, lounging in my desk chair. Sultry, sexy. Her legs are crossed and her smokey eyeshadow makes her hungry brown eyes pop out at me, eating me alive. Her gaze consumes me and I approach slowly, taking in the glimpses of skin visible from her fishnet stockings. She beckons me closer, lacy sheer bralette poking out from the deep cut of her slip. Straps on straps, I swear I’ll tangle my heart in them.

Wandering in the grassy field, hand in hand. Dipping our toes in the cool stream and sipping honey wine right from the bottle. Flowers sticking out of her sunhat and the pocket of my Tweety-bird overalls.

I’m not a dancer. She loves to dance. We compromise by attending her friend’s band’s show, and dancing anyway. My hands rest on her hips, wanting to wander and linger. I want to sneak off to some blank wall and kiss her and call her my baby, and other things. She’s drunk and I feel blessed to be on this holy dance floor with her tonight.

I remember what it’s like to be on country backroads in my car, as she drives. Our mixtape is on the stereo and wind is blowing through the open windows into our wild hair. My hand grazes her thigh. This is what bliss feels like. When we made it to Seneca, I knew we were falling in love.

She sits up and looks at me from the bed. I take her drink and look her right in the eyes.

“Lie down.”

She complies, seeing the lust in my eyes. Hitchcock’s Psycho plays in the background as we begin to kiss. I lie on top of her chest and breathe her in. Her perfume is distinct- sweet, floral, Terri. Together we got drunk off of butterflies and puppy love.

She told me that cooking with me that evening felt so real, so right. We made shrimp pasta and mixed drinks and kissed in the kitchen. Later, in the comfort of her bed, I whispered that I wanted to kiss her more than I did. She responded by rolling on top of me.

I’m a lightweight. The night we played board games with my best friend, I drank so much that she had to drive us home. She thought it was cute, thank god, because I had made a fool of myself giggling after half a drink.

That Monday morning, when I drove her to the storage unit, my heart crashed. Something about watching her go into the business building and coming back out smiling at me and handing me a key made me flash forward to our future- the doors are wide open.

And I want to be lost in her forever. I would be perfectly content lying next to her on gray sheets, naked and blushing. I could write an anthology of poems about her beauty and collections about her love. Perhaps a small portion of her grandiosity could be captured, if I pour enough of my blood into my pages.

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