you're too good for that. put down that beer. pick your clothes up off the floor. he doesn't know your valleys and hollows or the way you smile to yourself when the sun kisses your milky skin.
you know better. step away before his touch burns across your flesh and intoxicates you; the smell of alcohol and *** hanging off your bones.
you deserve more than his locust kiss across your plains and fields. he will let you dress in shame and leave without offering those nourishing words that you crave.
you are just a body to him. and when he is through you will be fallow.