I finally found your theme song,
you know, all about French exits
and men stumbling over you,
back into boys it seems.
and now I have got some stupid
hunger, or call it some craving
for the skin you had let me taste,
the neck, lips, your inner right
honestly it seems like a waste
fucking around that last night–
but still very tight and lucid,
me on a bed corner, raving
over what I want to do too.
nothing left to redeem
for affection. it’s been too long.
and you don’t speak “no.” you text it.