Sloppy stuttering. Wringing hands
attached to awkward arms at made-up angles.
Surely the bead of sweat on my back
will betray my attempt at a
cool and collected costume.
Eyes dart from the the corner of the room to
my straw, stained a tried-too-hard red,
back to you. You are the sun, burning my vision.
Is it more rude to stare,
or to ignore your pupils penetrating me,
questioning my sincerity?
Inhibitions start to waver as
the bubbles from my *** and Coke course
through my veins, into my heart, and
come out of my mouth as girlish giggles.
The flirty alter ego pushes me aside.
My lips are now scarlet and proud.
Your eyes scream desire and I know
that she is in control of us. She places my hand
on yours. You lean in and place your lips on hers,
while I sit inside my own mind, wishing that
I could feel anything but envy.
Perhaps one day she’ll stay
when the bubbles fade.
And I’ll float away,
propelled by my pounding heart.
