#sinking?

I can't stand Tye Tribbett and Tasha Cobbs-Leonard's homophobic asses, but so many of their songs go so hard.

A perfect weekend is perfect. The birthday party is affectionate and cute and sweet, and I'm happy for all of it. Protoboy is social and sweet and I'm shocked that he would even go considering how the last month has been for us. But he's wondeful. The night gets tipsy and touchy and my lovely lady joins us for grabbing and flirting. I am madly jealous and mostly because I want him. I freely admit it to him. He reminds me that I am also touchy and feely, and I admit that yes, I am crazy. He gets me home and we settle in. It isn't long before our tipsy snuggles become softer and hands roam, and then he's kissing me. His lips touch mine and I feel it to my marrow. He's urgent and gently and rough and whispering into my ear, and I'm trying so hard to be quiet. When we collapse together, sweating and shaking, I can't hold it together and I find myself crying. He clutches me to his chest and won't let me go until I'm breathing normally. I tell him how much I miss him. He tells me the same and we hold each other in the dark. In the morning we're flirty and snuggly, you hold me and slide your fingertips over my skin. We are lazy to a fault, and spend the whole day in bed tangled in sheets and each other. The first time you kiss me in the sunlight I get electric shocks. I don't know what this is. Maybe it's a birthday present. Maybe it's comfort. You ask again and again if I am having a happy weekend. You cradle my face in you hand and kiss my shoulder and tell me how sweet I am and how cute I am. How you'll have comfort for me in the coming days of political unrest. Chaste kisses to the car, and I can bask in the what if. I just missed you so much.