i live to watch the words spill from you, hot and sticky as your fingers work their magic. slick from sweat, frantically flicking, thrumming out another string of syllables, eclipsing me with ellipses blinking in the bottom left corner of the screen keying me in: you’re still typing.
i am a ******, afforded a first-class seat addicted to the way you tease me with your words: gently. slowly. and also all at once. i could hang myself from the precipice of your fingertips— plying secret messages, peep shows for my eyes only. you’re showing off, and i can’t get enough.