Poetry: VIII


You are so perfectly imperfect and I instantly love you only I ever notice the new callus on your finger the subtle change of your cologne the moment where you bite your lip before you ask me a question I’ll have to behave myself we are in your parents house but our attraction is stronger than pleasantries and never knew a single boundary we’d set we’re listening to records making small talk but when I touch your arm playfully only I ever notice your skin coiling with lust as you look away you were always embarrassed and I loved it I told you to embrace it but you called me wild I wasn’t perverted I never wanted to do things to you I just fed off the idea of someone finding me attractive and it was dangerous you beg for distraction and comment on something absurd like the drapes or dinner your shirt is tucked in and my shoes are untied you lean over the record player and begin to reach for my lips with your lips we hear the front door open and you panic and pull back and I can almost feel the adrenaline rush of fear graze past me I am frustrated and adore you the threat is gone and you advance again determined to prey upon lips as helpless as a wounded butterfly they flutter a moment but let out a small defenseless gasp and pull back again your fathers footsteps frighten you into animalistic subordination I am no help I egg you on and lean back lying down and stretching tightening every fabric over me the way I know drives you crazy you growl and you rub at your goose bumps I close my eyes and never offer to turn the record over when it stops.


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