Petra March

“My fingers gripped his sweaty T-shirt. I kept kissingEagan until he groaned softly in his sleep.“I love you,” I murmured against his lips.I moved away from him. I forced myself to stand, Igrabbed my guitar case and I left.On the bus, I kept licking my lips; I tasted him, the saltof his sweat, and a hint of cinnamon.”

“I love a boy with sun-kissed hair,With ocean storms in his bright blue eyes,I love a boy who drinks my tears when I cry.”