Knobby-wristed boys stroking my thighs
Arms wrapped 'round my waist, filling my ears with their sighs
They hold me, and they ask most politely
To touch each of my ******* when they're pressed against me tightly.
I'm lost in the haze; it's a plume of smoke in my brain
Requests patter past me like drops in the rain.
The room is dark, outside it is cold
I am older than they and they are not as old
'Round my soft unkempt body, they wreathe their desires
We don't ask, "Do you like me?" We are not liars.