A hand on my thigh. That is what I’m thinking about, most of the time. A hand slipping under my dress, the other holding the steering wheel, and me, upright in the passenger’s seat. Fearless. Always fearless in love, like I’ve had practice. Look, I know you’re sick of hearing about the skin of it all, but I’m not done being shameless with where I want to be touched. A hand pressed lightly against my neck. Lips grazing the apple of my bottom lip. Your name like a tongue over the ridges of my teeth. Your body like a downpour with me dancing underneath it.

Caitlyn Siehl
Most of the Time