Your legs still open, skirt on, top on, panties to the side. Now we talk about the day’s schedule, where we’re going, when we’ll be home, and what we want for dinner. Your toes still point, your knees relax and widen and the last few, volatile minutes begin to bubble out where my cock had just been. I drop the peels between your glazed thighs.·
····on the breakfast table—splitting the orange
Something light, you say, for dinner, and both your hands fall like butterflies over the emptiness I left behind.
Redbud | December 14 2016