his words are black and red and vomit green
his train of thought's route's picturesque --
but utterly obscene
i know nothing's drawn him to me
beyond pairs of scarlet cheeks and 34Ds

the opportunist strikes; sniffing out and scouting
the internal court case of "when the moment's right"
vs "who else could possibly want me?"

innocence and uncharted thighs
the rarity of a body that might not say 'no'
and maybe i'm a cock-tease for leaping to my senses
but quite frankly, he'll always be a toad
shoutout to Those Dudes™ whose come-ons i almost can't reject because it simultaneously makes my skin crawl and is mildly gratifying. welcome to adolescence and not being used to sexual attention because you grew up unattractive and bordering on obese
Meg Howell Nov 2017
A daily riddle
Has come to mind
Where abstract words
Break an abstract mind
And things once healed
Fall apart
After the moon hits that mark
Thoughts are runny
Dilapidated ears hear harsh lullabies
But no baby cries
Just you and I
Cries fit for the night
The dubious night
The doubtful night
The dangerous night
Our night

— The End —