Just after sex,
You lie on your side
The mop of hair is a little chaotic,
Which suits the talkative smile
That looks a little unhinged from here.
The air is full of sweat
And sour pickles.
You tap your toes to some unknown tune.
The discussion we have-
We discuss tongues in odd places
And censored fluids.
You giggle in your irritating way
While I think of witty reprisals.
It feels like an epistolary novel.
A conversation full of long monologues,
Disjointed in its edges; falling apart, if not for the wonderful prose.
Our replies are hidden within our letters;
They are simply expressions of repressed conversations
That weren’t allowed.
(The picture belongs to me, along with the rest of the post… :3 )