you drop story angles like singles at the stripper bar
your curves meandering like double shots of whiskey
sipping on matters that bother you not
gently crossing your legs with the wind.
I could season them with herbs
I could reason them with verbs
I could treason them with clubs.
And I see you walking across the room,
I rise, I melt. I stay suspended with emotion.
I want to crawl into you, appear between your spaces, disarm you with my shamelessness.
Let me touch you so I can believe that you get breathless too when you see me. Let me see you break. The cracks in your marble, as I shake your core.
Let me be the thread barely holding your modesty. Let me tear myself apart.
Oh rats. Rabbits. Jessica.