the fuck letter.

To You (who i thought about while I found it difficult to piss this morning due to erection caused by the dream in which you starred):

i know you’re at work, fingering through papers that mean absolutely nothing to you, pretending to be busy in front of your boss. I respect that grind. But I’m hoping this letter creates a ding in your inbox and you check it before I begin my day.

come over. the building is too quiet and I’m going insane from the solitude. let’s create noise. let’s leave the doors open and raise the blinds. let’s fuck on the welcome mat because i just washed it. can you think of a better way to celebrate me learning how to work this new dryer?

let’s press down hard on each others flesh because we don’t know what else to do with our hands. let’s fuck and moan like the sounds we make are the only things keeping us alive.

I’m not sure if the paint dry, but it should wash easily off your back. bring your brush and comb and flat iron if you have to go back to work after.

come over. i’m well rested. i’m thinking about that time i climbed into your uterus and we slept comfortably. i’m watching the video we made and the pictures we’ve taken and it’s not helping. so come over. come now or i’m coming there, but if we don’t fuck before i start this day, i may just die, and i don’t want you having that on your heart. ok?

so i’ll see you in 25 minutes?

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