Playing with her FUPA

We woke up to Alice Coltrain playing on my Spotify. I rolled over to your side of the bed and as Alice played the piano I played with your FUPA. You very sweetly told me to stop–I did not. Instead, I laughed. You tried to pry my fingers away. I leaned in to you. I was the big spoon. I turned you around to kiss you. You said your breath stank and covered your mouth. I said, “Mine too. Why you trippin? I like that.” You said that I was nasty, but you let me kiss you anyway. This is how we spent the morning. In and out of consciousness and in and out of one another while Alice played the harp. And thank god it wasn’t vinyl because neither one of us would have been able to exercise the restraint necessary to get up and turn the record over.

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