kissing cousins
He makes her want to throw herself gloriously into, be swallowed and destroyed by, be hollowed and emptied of.
She never can quite finish the sentence, decide what exactly it is she wants to be swallowed, hollowed, thrown by – there is only the furious weight of feeling she carries for him; a prepositional love, if you will, she tells her mind.
A love of prepositions, of hypotheses and theories and attempts.
A love from the darkest corner of the library, where she can turn away, turn into, turn about should his sparkling gaze ever find her out.