In Da Pitt

his pudgy little tummy remains draped over the crevice of your spine, nestled just perfectly against you. like a blossoming houseplant, you instinctively lean towards his warm, cozy front. each breath of his a gentle rumble on your back as you come down from your state of anxiety.

every once in awhile sammy would check to make sure you’re still comfortable under his full mass, worried that he might crush you with his heftiness. he would brush his chubby, rosy cheeks against your side as he plants kisses on the back of your head before he’d whisper, “still okay baby?” you’d be too dazed to respond, purring like a cat, completely reduced to soft breath-like hums as you find safety underneath sammy’s tummy.