I am sitting in my bedroom on a fresh summer morning, and I am thinking about you.
I am sitting in my bedroom on a fresh summer morning, and I am thinking about how gentle your hands are when they run themselves over the steep curves of my body.
I am sitting in my bedroom on a fresh, and somewhat rainy, summer morning, and I am thinking about the burn I got my on thumb last night when I was making a hot chocolate, and I am thinking about how it doesn't hurt. Your hands are electric, your mouth sparks fires in-between my thighs and they burn and burn and burn, but they never hurt.
I am sitting in my bedroom, and it's a rainy summer afternoon with a cool breeze and I can hear the trains passing on the track nearby and I am thinking about you and all the ways we could be great. And how, for the first time in my life, I don't mind being burnt if it means I get to share these fires with you.