if you were mine, i’d send you pics of every morning

You wake up to a message, and that ass fills your screen before your eyes even adjust to the light.

You feel the want settle into your chest, something slow and heavy, the kind that doesn't leave by noon. You imagine the warmth of that body beside you, the specific weight of wanting someone who photographs themselves thinking of you.

You'd earn that — the morning light, the casual intimacy, the way someone trusts you with the version of them that hasn't faced the day yet. You'd want every single one.