This is not desire, a hot and burning ache that sputters and growls. This is gentle. This is soft. This is fierce, like a current that obeys only the moon and sea. This swells in my chest and whispers in my ear. I tell it to shoo, to leave me be, but that sensation between my ribs does nothing but surge. Your arm slightly brushes my waist and it moves to my cheeks, an ambush that could drown me. I think you’re such a pretty boy. You’re too pretty to be splashed with this. What if you don’t like it?
Maisie McGrane is a high schooler from Charlottesville, Virginia. She loves her cat Inigo, music, and ginger tea.