his body is like syrup and i drink and drink in the way i’d guzzle water in the middle of august. the round curves of him, the way his hips widen in a way that is feminine and i like it. i am thinking about the way he buttons his shirt when it’s the only piece of clothing he has, my eyes drifting down, his vague hardness a parody of what it was only a few minutes before. someday someday i’ll touch him without such guilt.

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