Green Dot

Sometimes I wonder what you get up to, in that big old house all by your little lonesome. After the sun goes down, and the deer come out.

I suppose I'll never likely know, not for sure.

But I know what I like to think.

House all dark, but that little green dot next to your tiny little profile photo, always smack at the top of my list.

I've seen that fire in your eyes when we look at each other.

That's not the only place you feel the heat, is it?

I wonder what you're thinking about, flipping through my profile photos…

Do you think about how my hand would feel, fingers pushing through your hair to pull you in?

What it would feel like for our lips to finally meet?

How my other hand would feel on the skin of your back, reaching into your shirt to undo your bra?

Do you imagine my hot breath on your neck? Register the tiny pleasant pain when I nibble your ear?

When you reach down, looking into my eyes… into my profile photo's eyes… do you wonder if my fingers feel like your fingers, setting out to stoke the fire between your legs?

Do you imagine how my mouth might feel, the softness of my tongue impossible to replicate with just your fingertips?

When you finally reach that sweet release… do you tell me that you love me?

Before quickly backing out to your timeline, covering your tracks, leaving no trace of your journey?

Nah.

Probably just doomscrolling.

Surely.

But I like my version better.