Hinge
Sometimes words are expressed in different forms, like your tongue telling me how I was everything you desired.
I looked at you and quickly got lost in your dark features. Vinyl playing in the background some funky jazz tunes. The room was dimly lit with warm hues radiating electricity from wall to wall to our inner beings. I wish I could remember what was said, but I was too busy falling into lust with you.
It got a little crowded, so we gravitated to a speakeasy just a block away.
Only this time, the hip-hop base trembled through the speakers, and the crowd was jumping. I’m talking skin-to-skin. You grabbed my hand and made a path to a 70s-style navy blue couch just past an archway.
It’s ironic. We left to find a quiet place, and there we were, music blasting, unable to hear our voices. It’s not like it mattered, considering your tongue was down my throat within minutes.
Sometimes words are expressed in different forms, like your tongue telling me how I was everything you desired that night, how you waited so long to find a woman so gentle yet so strong, so calm yet so exhilarating, and it said,
“Come home with me.”
