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

You wake up to a photo of that ass — round, bare, catching the early light like it was placed there just to ruin your morning focus.

You feel the pull of it before your eyes fully adjust, the kind of want that sits low and doesn't apologize for itself.

You'd spend every morning like this, phone warm in your hand, knowing exactly what's waiting — soft skin, slow hours, a body that belongs to your most selfish thoughts before the rest of the world gets any piece of you.