she says to him, “i want to have your puppies.”
she’s the dream that you cannot wake up out of, the name stitched underneath your tongue. and you wish you could hold her, you wish you could open her up. you want to find where all the passion comes from, how it pours out of her, even when she sleeps. how her eyes pierce you suddenly, nail you into place, make you swollen and hard and urgent and forgetful of all the tenderness you’ve mustered.
he says to her, “i’m not some sort of animal, really i’m not.”
and she laughs, “oh baby, but ain’t you just meant to be?”