You fall in frustration,
screaming at the soft carpet that greets you,
because I torture you,
ever elusive,
long legs,
across your desk,
long monologue,
where I pretend not to notice,
that you want me.
I talk about it some more,
your desire is my world,
and all the world’s a stage,
for girls like me.
My lips are soft,
and yours are cursing me,
they collide every time I try to continue speaking,
because you’re rushing me,
for your own sake,
and eventually mine.
I watch you lose your mind.
Last night,
I dreamed that we went to see a movie,
stuck to the seats,
as your hands decided to be sordid,
hungry for something the snack counter didn’t stock,
I was devoured by a demon that had already consumed my soul,
and I woke up from that,
like nothing was wrong.
How does that make you feel?
