I Am An Unpublished Manuscript Dying For Your Tender Caress
You know you want me on top…of your TBR pile.
The moment you arrive home and lift me into your arms, every cold, wet hour I spent on your doorstep is forgotten. When you tear open my envelope, I feel born anew, churning with anticipation and need. You slide me out, squinting at my cover. Open me, I think. Cradle me until every last page knows the ecstasy of your touch.
Is your sigh a sigh of wonder at my catchy yet compelling title, or is it the plastic spiral binding from FedEx Office that has you breathless?
You must have known playing coy with my creator (your niece’s friend’s mom’s cousin) wouldn’t discourage me from becoming yours. When you told her you “weren’t taking on new writing clients” and “weren’t open to submissions,” I understood your subtext: you were saying no to everyone else so you could say yes to me. Especially after running into my creator while out on a date with your married lover and realizing she knows his wife from goat yoga.
It’s a little dusty in the corner of your bedroom, but from the top of your TBR pile, I can almost see sky through the window. The others complain I make the stack ‘top heavy,’ but they don’t understand what you and I both know: you like me on top, poised and ready for the moment you…
