catching up

don’t belong anywhere in particular so he explores me with questions, wanting to pin me down, make me fit, make sense, stay inside the lines.

anyone can satisfy inquiry with jagged lines of loose intellect both real and feigned. watching his hands realize i make him nervous – the roles are reversed but i’m not sure why so i slouch my shoulders attempting to make myself smaller, less intimidating.

he smiles instead of asking a question and even though it’s clear he’s flirting i stimulate resting bitch face and wonder if the ice in my eyes will break him. the smile falters until disappearing altogether.

i have many unspoken needs it would take only a touch to unleash, but i’m not desperate, nor do my colors fit into the lines he imagines.

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