A hand on my thigh. That is
what I’m thinking about, most of the
A hand slipping under my dress,
the other holding the steering wheel,
and me, upright in the passenger’s
Always fearless in love, like
I’ve had practice.
Look, I know you’re sick of
hearing about the skin of it all, but
I’m not done being shameless
with where I want to be touched.
A hand pressed lightly against
my neck. Lips grazing
the apple of my bottom lip.
Your name like a tongue over the
ridges of my teeth.
Your body like a downpour
with me dancing underneath
— Caitlyn Siehl, Most of the Time