Sunday morning. Typing this entry while alternating between puffs of menthol cigarette and sips of white wine. Lost in thoughts after yet another oh-my-God-what-did-I-do-last-night episode. Memories of silken tongues and intertwined limbs and your orange scent leaving a mark on my skin.
I’m a flirt. I’m a tease. But I play for keeps.
Don’t make me fall in love, baby because that’s more than you bargained for. I’ll let you do what you want just as long as I want it. So what if my hips sway with yours to every beat of the song? They never said we’d go all the way.
I’m a peep-show. An ad. A trailer for sex.
Fuck the movie, baby. Not me.