I'd wear your leather like a vest,
double-breasted.
Your skin atop mine,
warm the place over my heart.
Yearning to scribble atop the parchment of the palm of your hand.
fingertips fabricating stories to be kept as secrets,
just between us.
Naysayers need not know the tang sweet sour of the touches between us.
Never negating the notions behind these embraces that have become necessity.
I'd love for you to be my sweat pants and comfy t-shirt.
Never too snug rubbing just the right way.
Comfortable.
So beautiful, wrapped in your sex.
Perfectly acessorized.
Strut and rip the runway.