Thursday, June 23, 2011

the lost month

I don't know the difference with this one. He's my friend but I can't keep my hands to myself when I'm with him. He's my friend but he's tasted my lips and touched almost every part of me. He's my friend and I know his smell. He's my friend who I think about more than some.

Im confusing his sweet sweet attention with something else, some kind of attraction, and its consuming my nights and ruining my body. Because that's something I would do, fall for an unavailable mess. 

But oh how nice it is to touch.
(up on the counter, under the lunch table, behind the bar)
(waking up side by side, his hand on my ass, wine spilled around us)

what a wonderful mess we've made of June.

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