Love is ceiling cracks
Because it's not the sex
That makes love
It's the intertwined spread eagle on his mattress afterwards
It doesn't matter
That he just fucked me
With my hands tied to the bed
And his tie over my eyes
Because we are dirty little kinky freaks
Who also like to snuggle
And to look at each other and not be able to stop smiling
Love isn't made by sex
Love is when I stare at the ceiling cracks
As he lies on me for minutes on end after he comes inside of me
Not because he's lazy
But because we both like how close we are like this
Love is in his hands that try to keep his body upright in the shower
As I am on my knees in the steam
And look up at him, smiling and tracing his cock with my tongue
Then watching him blissfully flopped in the tub
As gallons of water keep pouring and draining away behind us
Love is in his eyes as he happily gropes me in front of a mirror after we're done showering
While he's humming Bob Marley and Star Wars and swaying
There's no love when he pins me against a wall
Or throws me on the bed
Or huskily whispers that he wants to hear me scream his name
That's not love
That's passion and the best orgasms I've ever had
Love is in ceilings
And in hands
And in eyes
And cannot be seen very well without heavy breathing and skin on skin first
Because love is when you get to have the sex
And the ceiling cracks.
