We are sitting at a bar
(and aren’t we always, love?)
and I am leaning forward
with my tongue like a key
betwixt my lips
because I know by now
I’m unfound treasure
for you.

And I can tell by the way
you swallow,
by the hardness brandished
in those blue eyes
that reads like hunger
for me.

And I know it would be
so easy
to take you by the collar
and have our mouths meet
not so politely.
To smile against your shock,
to savor that one sweet moment of mesh
before you pull back with regret;

before I shrug and act
like you and what you made
me feel are ‘all too easy’
to forget.

And on the weekend,
in the dark of my living room
when his fingers know
the curves of my body
like braille,
I will pull away from his mouth
licking my lips
and laughing at his
glazed over eyes

because unlike you,
who’s always six bottles in,

with me straddling his lap with
my fingers in his hair
he smiles, lethargic,
and I know it’s me:
I’m the ‘thing’ that
intoxicates him.

And in the middle of a living room,
(my heart full with love)
the room erupts
and I am light
for him.


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