The Rumors Of My Small Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated.

It’s a strange thing, to invite you in,
To ask you to stay.
To let you hear me snore-
To let my breath escape.

You know you yell in your sleep? A sort of half-scream. It’s scary.

I keep telling you to relax.
I’m a hypocrite on multiple counts,
A mugshot of smeared lipstick and a half-finished glass.
I’m not trying to get you drunk, I’m just trying to get to know you.

I think you’re cute, but I’m not trying to get you pregnant yet.

You’re not particularly nice to me. Evidently that’s my thing.
Men who are scruffy and vaguely mean.
Maybe it’s my kink?

Nah, my kink is people that hold me.
My kink is men who make me feel safe.

I don’t want to fall asleep yet, but we should cool down.

I am apprehensive, and hungry.
I am many things.
I am weird, you keep reminding me.

You did all the right things, but
Succumbing to coming is particularly intimate,
It’s a rare feat, for me, on the first time.
The rumors of my small death have been greatly exaggerated.

But the pleasure was real.
The lie was ethical-
A half-truth, I was overcome with bliss but not quite reaching a precipice.
There was behavior worth reinforcing.
In particular, that thing you do with your tongue-

Do exactly that, but just-
Do it when I trust you.