you were baptized.
i'm sure of it.
you're so clean,
so smooth,
so
nice
and i love it.
but i'm not going to touch you.
i don't mind the distance,
the lack of electricity;
it's just the idea that's taken me.
touch this,
touch that,
run my hand along your jawline
and feel imperfect stubble,
loving the realness;
for real perfection is not perfect.
that makes you perfect
in both senses of the word.
it's just the idea that amuses me,
the thought that i
me
could actually do it,
affect you.
unfortunately,
you don't affect me,
not like that.
it's just the idea that you exist,
and that try as i might,
i don't want this.
i'm all scribbles and worries,
one too many cups of coffee,
one too many sips of crazy,
and crazy is as crazy does;
i need someone to understand.
i'm sure you were baptized,
all clean and pink,
that's nice.
but where i come from,
we swim in murky river water
and i like that
a little too much
to ever be totally clean.
*whatever