playing games
"all this is, is a fling"
i remind myeself as you grab my waist
"all this is, is a fling"
i repeat in my head as you hasten
to pull your shirt over your muscular back
allowing my fingertips to explore the expanse of your chest
inhibitions we lack
"all this is, is a fling"
i feel the words form in my mouth
but then your tongue pushes its way in
knocking them out
your body forces me down onto your bed
and covers mine
you seek to pull apart my threads
"all this is, is a fling"
i grapple with the meaning of those words
because i constantly seem to forget
my heart subverts
these FUCKING words in my head
your lips are kissing and sucking down my body
my skin igniting where you touched
you're torturing me
both physically and emotionally
why can't you fucking stay?
why can't you please fucking stay?
"all this is, is a fling"
i clench my teeth when i remember
that there is no future come the spring
because you're leaving at the end of december
"this is just a fling, Vic"
i finally accept it
and every time i do, i feel sick
but then that feeling is quickly replaced with elation
© 14 Oct 2015 Vic Romero (edited and reformatted)
<
