Pocket Heart.

Spring Fever came and went with a cool breeze, and Summer Fling reared its pretty little head with little more than the standard sunburn. Now here it is, Fall, and all I've got, all I suspect to see- unless something in me changes like the leaves soon will- is this set of light bruises where my skinny hips met his. Whether it was the weight of him on top of me hoping for more against my relentless foreplay-to-nowhere, or the weight of my disinterested mind seeking solace in dreams of someone else that pressed me into the mattress and actually left them, I'm not sure, but all the same another man left some impression on me.

I pitied him for embracing my disinterest. I know he sensed my mood shift like you can tell the first Fall temperature drop. He could feel my mind weave in and out, his heart searching for mine, even if just to engage me a little more in the moment and make me change my mind about getting a little bit more undressed.

Perhaps some people think that hearts are available if you just reach in the right pocket. But some pockets are sewn up, no matter how hard you try rip the stitching. He dug around a few times, but came up empty-handed. I suspected it wouldn't be worth it so just nodded my head "no" and watched his face fall like a little boy whose just knocked his ball into the neighbor's yard and would rather let them bring it back then go and get it to keep on playing. A little saddened by his defeat for a moment, I was relieved and tired of playing too.

Maybe I need a better pick-pocket. Depending on what I wear, sometimes those pockets are just hard to find.