Most days I didn't find her very attractive.

But sometimes she'd wear bright red lipstick and I wouldn't be able to stop staring

At her lips. I'd watch the way they parted when she talked,

When she smiled, before she took a bite of spaghetti.

She was always eating spaghetti.

I’d notice the way she'd drip sauce on her comfy old t-shirts.

I tried so hard not to notice the shape of her breasts beneath the stains.

When she offered to do my make up for a date,

I let her, even though I knew I would've done a better job myself.

I was just curious how it would feel to have her fingers so close to my lips.

Her breath tingled on my cheeks,

As she smudged purple eyeshadow around my eyelids.

She smiled and called me beautiful,

As she drew her hands back from my face.

One night, a few drinks in, she admitted she had been staring at my lips too,

With our first kiss -

I had never imagined wanting to tuck her in at night,

Until I pushed her onto the bed and I saw all of her relax.

Her arms out, asking me to be her blanket.

Normally she was so guarded.

Competitive, in the way women can only be with each other.

(It is so much better when we collaborate.)

I remember sliding my hand into her panties,

(It was the first time I'd ever done that.)

So much softer and thinner than boxers.

I remember her chin shaking,

As she came too quickly around my fingers.

She moaned my name in red lipstick,

And I wished to never spell my name in any other color.