“Your curls are traps… and I've fallen into each one, not wanting to leave. They sway when you pass, as if inviting me to play. And when I touch them, it feels like every strand wants to trap me there, between your sighs and your warm skin. You smell like sin, and you have the look of someone who knows exactly the effect you cause. There's no way to feign control with you around… Because your body speaks, your mouth provokes, and those curls… oh, those curls are invitations to lose track of time and do everything—slowly or wildly, however you want.”