laying in bed
listening to manchester orchestra
smoking a bowl
attempting to suppress the anxiety I feel
about Britt’s wedding Saturday and everything to do with it
along with the concerns I have with my recent actions;
the men that have been in this bed the past month
the amount of times I’ve been fucked up driving
to lay in theirs’.
How we interact when you really want me
is something that proceeds to haunt me.
You hit the bowl then a long slow kiss
and instantly you’re at my hips.
You hold my hands above my head
and make your way between my legs.
I know it feels so good for you
cause your size, just squeezed through.
So you know it feels so good for me
when you hold my legs from beneath my knees.
All of me is shown attention
my bottom lip you bite with passion.
For days I’m stuck in a daze
for I got all that I crave.
I forget that when it’s over
I can’t fight that craving sober.
Come home my stranger in India
because waiting on you is too hard.
The reason I haven’t written back is because
I’m doing all the bad shit I was.
My love is average.
I obey an average law.