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Brent Kincaid Nov 2015
Don’t touch me.
I don’t know you,
A stranger to me,
I don’t allow you.
You smiled at me
From across the place.
In this noisy nightclub
You’re just a face.

You might be a cook
Or maybe a movie star.
I don’t know you at all.
I don’t know who you are.
You don’t have permission
To put your hands on me
And treat me like someone
Who is desperate and ******.

I totally understand
The way things are today.
After all I’m in this bar;
It’s like I seem to say
I’m one of those types
You take home for some fun.
That might be what you think
But I am simply not that one.

You see, all I can go on
Is a matter of your looks
And I am not a psychic
To tell angels from crooks.
So, thank you for your offer,
But I am going to pass.
I turned you down even though
You patted me on my ***.

I won’t woke up tomorrow
Full of sorrow and regret.
I won’t be the conquest
You will quickly forget.
I’ll be the one who has
Taken the time to say
I understand your game
But, I don’t want to play.

— The End —