Offering my heart like lemon drops at happy hour.
Years of it being thrown behind the shoulder.
I could be bitter. I could be sour, but that means I’ve let it get to me.
Instead we play cards at an obsidian table.
Exchange free compliments like after dinner mints.
Dinner was great by the way, no I’m not looking to come over to your place.
But if you really don’t mind sharing your space tell me.
What is it that you want to have accomplished by the time your forty.
Silence and a grin form before our lips lock.
Clock ticks slowly as we make more time for each other.
Finally you offer me a true answer to the question.
My heart vibrates like a pager with a low battery.
Warning me that the longer I listen your words mixed with morphine I may lose the feeling in the left side of my brain.
That’s how you get me.
It’s nice to have deep tissue massages under moonlight in my apartment, but where does that get me if you’re not there when I wake up.
A note with a heart and a smile doesn’t peak my interest.
Breakfast in the morning does.
Rub on my neck while I cook for you.
I promise I’m worth the wait just like these cheese grits and eggs I’m about to make.
You’re not getting bacon, you had meat last night.
I’ll feed you grapes instead.
Or some kind of melon.
I don’t mind going to the store for you.
Go shower up and consider how much I’m willing to do for you.
Let it brew like the coffee you drink before work.
Because after I get back from the store we’re going to your place so you can get your work clothes because you’re staying with me again tonight.
That is.. unless you had something else to do.
If that’s the case.
Let’s go ahead and do it one more time in the living room.

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