you cut the sleeves off perfect good shirts.

Remembering February.

I've never walked with so much height as when you are in the room. Tonight I am 10ft tall and everyone else will part ways when I smile through sangria lips. Your coolness makes me shimmer and I 'm not even wearing clean clothes. I'm not heavy. I'm game. I'm the raw rare spicy meat that is hard enough to catch but even harder to tame. I've got even bulk to sink your teeth into. Bite me. Hard. I won't sell you short. I see you absent mindily pushing the curls down that twist out over your ears and I want to claw your white shirt off. Others see the backs of your smooth rounded jeans, that quick flash of a smile, the glint of the light off your sharp canines, the pulsing dart of your eyes as you look her up and down admiring the flowers of her dress. I don't mind that others see you hungry like the wolf. I see your barefoot feet and admire their smooth whiteness... as they kick between my legs, behind my knees pushing me onto you as you sink your lips into my neck. Bite me. Harder.