I can still feel your rough tainted pillowcases
and the cold wind blowing small balls of sweat down my back
and across my forehead as our skin glides together,
over and over again.
I can still feel your skin between my teeth
as I gently grind them
back and forth, side to side,
and I still remember the feeling of your hair
between my fingers as I tug on it, indirectly telling you to keep going.
I can hear our laughter molding into one carefree voice
while we role around in curiosity, pushing all worries onto the floor beside socks and bedsheets,
all clinging back to us
along with a hint of playfulness and laughter
as your mom opens the door
and we scatter around,
searching for our innocence.
And I swear I can still see the clarity in your eyes
the day you came and surprised me at work,
the kind of clarity that your voice and your intentions
sometimes lacked.