when we fight i see my father in you. when you yell i imagine the fights my mother and father always had. but how we make up is so differently from them. they'd just go to different rooms.
we stay in the same one. you kiss me and i kiss you back and we dont even have to say anything to know that we are both sorry. the eagerness of our hands ripping off clothes and our lips tasting each others is enough to say that for us. it is enough that everything we were just arguing about means nothing.
throw me on the bed. kiss every crevasse of my body so softly and easily that it makes me feel as though it is music that is dancing on my skin. ** every part of me that you feel needs it.
but when you're done don't walk away. now it is my turn to make music dance on your skin with my knees pressed to the floor ground.


-how we make up