In my head, we have these conversations, these he-said-she said types of convo.
“You love how I eat on that cookie…”
And it’s been months but I hear your voice.
“I can tell you been eating those pineapples.”
Where’ve you been? I drive around hoping to run into you, catch that red light, look casually over to my left and see you there.
“Let me fuck you back to sleep…”
And in my head, that conversation has happened and even these fantasies are rushed through, just to get you in my bed.
“As soon as I touch you there…”
You’re always smiling, always happy to see me. But your mystery kills me, this slow suicide that chokes me, suffocates me little by little.
“You want me to say your name…”
You’re mine in my fantasy.
“Lay there naked waiting for me…”
And it’s perfect, even when it’s not. This vibe, this connection, months later I feel you, and I know you feel me too. It’s scary really, when I pop in your head and you wonder where I came from, you want to reach out, you want to feel these curves, you want to taste this.
“Let me ride…”
And the answer is always yes. In my head, it’s happened over and over and baby boy, over again and yet again.
“Just hold on tight to me, girl…”
And there’s no pain, no sadness, just mutual satisfaction and pleasure and you’re back right where you belong, right where my head’s had you all along, right where my insides want you deep.
“I wanna fuck you back to sleep.”