graphic by kayleigh woltal
I hold my own hand in bed, and she douses my ears with songs of honey and lust. Our fingers interlock— if I were to let go, if she were to forfeit, I’d be nothing. I’d have but five fingers and nothing more. I’m jealous of her dreams. Sometimes, if I get close enough, I can see them: Dreams of success, sleeping with another, yearning for things that are not me. How selfish of me to want Me all to myself.
beautiful.
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