She wants to know me,
Whisper secrets down my throat.
But like so many before..
I don’t see her name, but,
I know everything about her.
I discern her independent thoughts
Her politely rebellious acts of defiance,
How she shops at thrift stores
Wearing old tank-tops to complement her Chanel,
Paints her nails black and her index red.
I know she says this,
but really wants that.
I know what makes her toes curl
I know what she likes
And how she likes it.
I read her like an open book,
Bold font size 45.
She wants to know me,
To explore ourselves together.
But I recognize her from afar,
So how could she ever know me…