I always knew I wanted someone soft to love me. You’re nothing that special, bought on sale from Target and encased in a pink, cotton pillowcase, and yet my desire for you fills this lonely bedroom, makes my skin tickle, my lips moisten. I shake the dandruff from my scalp and dot you with stardust. God, how you know me so well, how you take my body and become shaped by my dreams. I tongue the stitching on your seams, shiver as the damp spot caresses the tip of my nose, and breathe in your musty odor of sweat and tears and drool which has seeped into the polyester fiberfill, my arms encircling my waist in a comforting embrace. When the ache in my chest grows like a swollen mosquito bite, I stuff you between my thighs and scream into a REM cycle. The next day my period starts, but instead of blood there are down feathers dripping into my underwear. The girls at school laugh at me as my belly grows round, spongy like memory foam, but their titters are muffled by my love for you, and all I can think of is the taste of your cloud kisses. I place my hand on my belly, and feel a bird flutter.
🛌🪶
