Hearts Still

I want a man who won't mind staying in on Friday nights. We can stay in and lie on his bed. We'll light candles and smoke cigarettes, drinking rosé as we listen to Lana Del Rey where we'll eventually make love as she croons in that deep and breathy voice of hers.

And he won't mind in the slightest when I ask him to hold me afterwards as I begin to get emotional over Chelsea Hotel No. 2. And he'll hum the song as I cry, my head resting on his chest and the comforting scent of his fading cologne will make me smile. He'll stroke my hair and kiss my forehead, telling me that it's alright.

I'll wear his shirt and he'll offer to make us something to eat. We'll watch Breakfast at Tiffany's and spend the night talking about Truman Capote and our favourite books. And I'll be clutching The Picture of Dorian Gray close to my chest and in a breathy voice tell him how beautiful it is.

And he'll cup my face and stare at me in the way that makes my heart still for a moment. He'll smile and kiss me softly on the lips.