I’m in my introspective era,
selfish with my perspective,
except when it comes to her.
She gets all of me,
or as much as she would like.
Promising to make her smile,
like Jack Harlow,
stunned by how she so desperately loves when I am powerful.
My eyelashes flutter and a cyclone is born.
The way I sway my hips as I walk is disruptive,
waiting on the corner for me to wander her way,
chasing like an LA cop after that white Bronco.
I’m a sordid sweetheart,
with a violent vibe,
my violets vine around my wrist and her neck,
checking her pulse,
holding her close,
holding her hostage.
She wants a taste of my lips,
plump and painted,
with her eyes on my mind,
and my mind only goes one place these days,
but it’s her favourite place to visit.