Well, it's just depressing
being this sober in a crowd where everything seems
so much lighter.
Because he's only touching me so I could shift my vision
to his hands on my thighs,
away from his eyes on my friend's soft mounds
that just yearn for him the way my lips travel the span of his jawline
like it's the only place I'll ever go.
But I'm stupid for the night
and I just want him to undress me slowly
and I want to forget all the times he called me by the wrong name
just so I could go home bruised and guilty.
And with every button he chews off,
I feel my sighs grow heavier until his weight is crushing
any opportunity for me to run.
But the body you're fucking with your lips and hips
isn't the body your mind made you this turned on for
and it's just so goddamn depressing
being so sober
in this crowd of willingness
when no one else can tell the difference.