We’re kissing
on his bed
in his tiny studio
lips touching,
tongues darting.
I hate his mouth.
I wait for it to get better
like I always do
It doesn’t.
I feel guilty.
He’s so nice.
Cute, smells good.
He’s on top of me,
staring at me in the darkness
I can barely see him
but it’s still hard to look back.
I offer up a smile
A smile to cover up
thoughts swirling around
how to let him down gently
how to say this is not what I want
how to say I don’t think
this can become anything
because he is too much of a stranger
to make this worthwhile
and that’s okay
Isn’t it?
Maybe I leave too often
before the end of the song
Maybe we’ve skipped too many steps
to see this through
This lopsided dance
is nothing new,
I’ve stumbled through
this routine before
Sometimes leading,
other times following
But the disappointment
of the finale
still knocks me off my feet
every time

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