Wolves

"A fight is going on inside me. It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil - he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego." He continued, "The other is good - he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith."

 "Which wolf will win?"

"The one you feed."

 I want to control this. I want to be able to catch this feeling in my hand and shine you with the glitter so it spells out my name. But only in the dark. Only on my terrace. Only when your big hands are curled deliciously around my waist and I’m levitating for your heart shaped lips. Did you know that I pulled my stomach back so your hands could slide into my shorts? Your fingers lingered on my buttons and my heartbeat staccato-ed all over the place and I could almost hear the voice in your head pulling you backwards through time.

“Come to my Planet,” I say breathlessly, “it’s so much fun”

“Gravity won’t let me go”

And I know it’s true.

I run my hands over your forearms and your muscles and you’re so ripped I fight the urge to bite you. You hold me gently. Like I’m a doll and in these sweeping moments with you I feel like a ballerina – always on my toes, always dancing, always curving my curves into your chest so your ribcage can shake mine up.

“You are so much fun to kiss”

Fact: My mouth can only kiss like she cares, full, gentle, bite marks buttercupping your neck, your collarbones, seeking out the beast.

When I find him I’m on your lap and he grasps my hands behind my back, his eyes dark and wolfish. I’m devoured; tastefully, tenderly, your stubble leaving trace marks on my face.

I pull away fighting to breathe, so turned on it hurts.

“This sucks, it’s like being 16, controlled kissing”

You look at me and your skin is so hot I want to hold mine against it.

We know the score. Bros over hoes, yeah?

“I need you to be mature about this”

“No,” I say covering my ears, “stop telling me to grow up”

You hold me tighter, “listen, I need you to understand…”

And the implication is enough, its a ‘bros over hoes’ deal, so you can’t lace your scent through mine except you already have and the first time I kissed you you backed away but then you found me hiding in a corner and kissed me back hard and despite everyone around us throwing a fit in a pulsing club lined with independence day lights you kissed me back and let me lead you away into the crowd so they couldn’t see us so you could hold me and then it happened again and again and now math is as much my weakness as it is yours.

“Help me with Percentages and I will owe you everything”

When you come over you don’t look as shiny happy as I do and a part of me hopes you aren’t pissed at the pull. The lure was enough. We go to my terrace and I pull out a single book with a million sums. Where am I supposed to solve this, you say reasonably, and I look at you because I have to and I want to and when you ask if you can put the book away I know I won a percentage of this but I’m going to end up losing the whole battle.

‘You’re a challenge now,” I tell you seriously, “Don’t say no, try new words” also I like tall boys with big hands who know how to solve data sufficiency sums and melt over dogs and will enter the Ladies to hold back the hair of a girl throwing up.

Despite the moral police kicking at our shins you don’t like to let me go when it’s time, when we smell of the same cigarette, skin like silver shifting every time we slip up. When it’s time for me to leave you lift me up and I get a proper destructive Disney dream kiss. Hard and real and an ‘I’m sorry’ gift wrapped with a sea of shining lights.

I don’t know if I can trap you into terrace Narnia time again. But I would like it if you let me.

I would really like to be a ballerina again. It’s a shame that this dancing is a sin.