If it’s tucked in your back pocket, or slipped quietly into the overnight bag, I know exactly what’s on your mind. If you toss a pack quietly into the basket as we walk round the supermarket, my heart beats faster. By the time we get to the freezer section I’m burning up.
You leave a trail for me, through the maze of laundry baskets and obligation and forgetfulness, a series of little silver flags. Square winks. Glittery parcels. Messages in foil envelopes.
I’ll write back in sign language: my three wishes: a hot fuck, a heartfelt kiss, our good health.