Privilege

The way he says snowflake grates at your spine but the way he breathes on your neck wipes the words from your brain so the night is a draw. You wait for hunger but it doesn't appear, so instead you try to fill the space with sentences; they are trite, but they live. Black clouds bubble in the back of your mind, you see them try to build and swat them away like insufferable pests. The humidity lays rivulets along your skin, the summer night whispers lewd ideas into your head, what else can you say?

Say yes.