Squirrels & Apostrophes

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He and I have moments. They are snippets that should be black and white photos; scenes from a movie; gifs on Tumblr.
Like him sitting on the floor between my legs, leaning against the couch as I massage his shoulders, tilting his head back into my lap, smug and pleased as a very contented cat.
Me leaning on the railing of my balcony on a cool autumn night. Him moving in behind me, sliding his hand up under my dress, his free hand holding a bottle of cider, and still smoking a lit cigarette.
Him pulling on his socks, sitting at the edge of my bed. Me crawling over to bite at his shoulder and the back of his neck until in one fluid movement he has pushed me back onto the bed and he is kneeling over me with a grin.
The two of us in his tiny car, driving to the mall, talking about the uncanny amount of favourite songs we share, and him, breaking into a poor rendition of “Conversation 16”.
Handing him an over-ripe banana at the archery range, because we had determined in a pre-late-night-fuck-flirtation the evening before that he was a grease monkey and deserved a reward.
The smile on both of our faces when he makes me climax so hard that I laugh.
The kiss at Chrome, that no one saw, when he was drunk and sorry he’d hurt me, and didn’t have anyone else to kiss, and I was being too cute to ignore.
Fevered kissing on the kitchen bench; stupid Facebook chats about cartoons and grammar; trying to get the angles right against the wall in his hallway; the shared frustration with Rocksmith; the hugs.
My god. The hugs.
These are why I cannot walk away. We create art, he and I.

Filed under muse create art he and i cliché

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On the balcony. One of his hands up under my dress, the other holding a bottle of cider and a lit cigarette.

Filed under yes