I live to watch you wander from room to room in nothing but the skin you were born in,
cook me eggs (over easy) in the ****.
You are too good for me, I think, as I saunter upward toward your door in youthful eager stupor.
You were the best i'd never had before now.
I think, what a gift, your silhouette against the darkness of my loneliness.
You admit torrid fantasies, so carefully masked by mercurial aloofness.
And yet, I am young with worry that you'll grow tired of my adolescent admiration,
my minor quirks and strange tics no longer endearing months from now.
Like i've felt with all my lovers past,
curious until the novelty wears itself thin.
but for now, I memorize your movements,
and I walk home grinning,
shamelessly,
purposely,
oblivious.