Happy Birthday

I’m not gonna lie;
I listen to
“Thinkin’ Bout You”
and I see me rocking against you.

I like to pretend that
you hold my hips
and my body
dips and flows against you
naturally.

Maybe I’m giving you too much credit.

I picture the way our bodies bend,
and if it is any way like I’ve imagined,
God babe,
please break me.

I find that this a pattern
I have with my musings about you.
Something like erotica
something others call sensual poetry.
Because I want to feel your hands all over me
as poisonous and intoxicating as it may be.

And I see the irony,
that the one Frank Ocean song that reminds me about you
shares the name of the one song
you showed me:
Calvin Harris’ “Thinkin’ ‘Bout You”.
Which every time I hear,
I see myself sitting near you in Profs.

I was explaining to someone the other day
about how I’m just naturally affectionate with you.
We always end up with hands together,
eyes searching one another’s faces,
for now…
Because I’ve kept away long enough to become interesting to you again.

I don’t want to fall for you.
I’m barely even attached.
But I do love the way you wait for me,
the way you ask, with a pretenses of a gentleman,
if you may walk me upstairs to get coffee.

And honestly,
I love it when you sweet talk me.
Because I’m a sap and
a fool.
A pretty, little fool
all for you.

“Gatsby.”
You’re more alike
than you will admit.
It’s the bow ties,
I think.
It’s the way you speak,
and I’m wasted without
needing a drink.

I fall into your tone like
I’m plummeting from a cliff.
Catch me in this mesh of sensation
and rhythm.
You owe me a mixed CD.

I guess this is the long way of me saying,
so many times,
I’ve looked up at you,
and wanted you to bend down to kiss me.

Writing this now,
is expelling it out of my system
knowing you’ll never read it,
unless it’s in print.

And as twisted as it may be,
this is my present to you.
“May all your wishes come true.”

I’m thinking about you,
regardless if you want me.

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