I don’t know how to maneuver in a glass jar full of firefly expectations. My glow is brightest in the obsidian night when no one is awake or cares enough to partake in my brand of distilled heartache. The weight of your unwillingness to wait for me to fly suffocates my will to try. Bring your whispers to my lips and allow my freedom to pour down your throat. My escape lies in your yearning for more of my sultry sighs. Bury your need deep inside me and let me write of our orgasmic demise.