n.y. hotel

"You taste like Pepsi, it's nice". The words linger along with the smell and the feeling that oscillated once before smoulders and makes a home in my chest. Inhaling knits boulders into a cave and I can't tell if I'm finding it hard to breath or if I'm doing it properly for the first time - for someone so soft you smash waves through that hollow every time your tongue brushes mine. This time, I don't make the bed. I don't want to disturb the remains of the way you crash through the sheets. You are Poseidon and I can only hope that when you slide your hand round my neck, the sounds that escape my mouth remind you of the sea. I can only hope that they never leave a bitter taste.