she had tears in her eyes and the rangy scent of very good beer on her that
for some stupid reason
I have always found seductive, making me bolder as if I had been the one to drink.
her head was in her hands.
I grew bold.
I tsk-tsked her because I was afraid too and we were alone in the loft with
the light of the streetlamp invasively shining against the wall, but
well it kind of helped
to see her there and to tell her "Come here," to tell her to get into my bed.
she was unsure.
So was I.
A twin bed can only hold so much pain, so much longing and so much curiosity
and the desperate pounding of hearts crushes the cotton and bends the springs.
We were face to face.
heads on pillows, the silence deafening as our arms found comfortable places
around the other's curves.
I felt like a deer being hunted.
Her eyes were wet, her mouth was wet, and my own blood was so full
of adrenaline that I wasn't sure exactly what I was doing or what
it might mean in the morning
when the light exposes the crudeness of what the night turns soft and ethereal.
I trained my focus on her eyes.
Our mouths met.
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