having relations.

getting it on.

rocking the casbah.

ive heard people talk, and i've talked about it, too, about the line between fucking and making love.

but i'm not sure if anyone ever told me about that middle. where it's not all primal, primitive urges saying good god above, don't stop. and where it's not all slow, easy going, watch her eyes close, her head tilt back, her back arch, her lips smile.

things meld and become fluid and she cracks me open like i'm a crab leg.

and its all new, and its all so so new.

and in one moment im thinking about how good she feels against my fingers, and then the next moment i look up.

and her face. oh her face.

it becomes a study. watching how this makes her forehead twist up as she gasp. and how this makes her lips curl into a smile without her control. and how this makes her lick her lips, open her eyes, and search for mine.

then we talk. she wraps around me and i love her for that. we talk, make fun of each other, asks questions we don't ask in front of others, in a restuarant.

she told me she liked my belly. my belly, the one i'm afraid has gotten too big from not playing ball for two years. my belly i'm afraid is too hairy.

it made me smile. and get all shy on her again, which she makes me do, often. i asked her why she liked it.

she touched me. ran her fingers across me. "it's not tough. not hard and solid. but it's not soft, either."

and we talked about other things. her exboyfriends. kat from last year.

i got maybe four hours of sleep last night.

i would take those four hours of sleep over a good twelve hours of sleep alone anynight.

any day.

yall, do some smiling.

you. you in the purple. you, too