Shadows paint his jaw, his cheekbones, his lips. God, his lips. I don’t remember, but there are things that are instinct, known all the way down in my bones. He hums when he’s happy. He can make me come undone with his slightest hold. His touch is sweet and soft in places no man has ever been on me. This body I inhabit but don’t recognize responds like it was made for him.
