I want to make origami with our bodies. I want to get caught between his legs and hear his breath get caught in his throat; dirty talk in morse code. I want our hands to clasp together like clams; fingers and toes to curl into claws because I can’t fucking take it anymore. I want to grind hip-bones and grit teeth, and stamp the shape of our knees onto the sheets. I’ll lie on my back and stretch out my arms: a sex angel. I want to feel his weight press me down: be here, don’t run, feel this. I want him to hold me down by my hair, run fingers down my chest, gentle as a wet window after the rain. I want him to hold my face and make me look at him. I want to feel his tongue stain his desire all the way down my spine. I want to put my ear (a conch shell) to his chest and hear his heart beat (the ocean). When I am done with him, I want him to kiss me once, slowly, and then use my ass as a pillow. We will sleep cheek to cheek.