My Prickly LegsI haven't shaved my prickly legs in a week, and I smell like moldy tacos, but he still can't sleep without me.
Sunlight smiles through the missing plastic blinders on our window. The explosion of Sunday morning through my eyelids shakes me up, and I stretch below the blanket, basking in the warmth of his clingy skin. My hair is sprawled on his face, and he crunches his nose when I brush it away. I giggle. He is beautiful.
I stare as his eyebrows twitch in some unnamed dream and he clings tighter to my waist, as if I would ever want to leave this sinful bliss and the stench of morning-after lust. His body is unsculpted, and soft; a neckbeard springs closely below his chin and tickles my cheek where it fits so perfectly. I start to tear up the longer I look at him, but then I notice that I haven't blinked in 3 minutes.
The apartment is a mess- a cozy studio sprinkled with the laundry we can't afford to wash, surrounding the bed like a moat of sweaty poverty. But all I smell is him, and h