“I don’t know any French,” I said.
“You only need to know one word mon cher.” she said. “Amour.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. “What’s that? Is that your name?”
She moved her hands, removing my body from reality, making an atheist feel holy. She closed her eyes, and I couldn’t keep mine open, and in the darkness, I saw her touches, each touch, each graze, giving a little glow, like a million lightning bugs floating around us. I saw her moans, and I kept muttering to myself, "Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster, Merriam-Webster," hoping that the next morning I won’t forget to buy a French-English dictionary.
Grab On To Me Tightly As If I Knew The Way