so last night i dropped my keys on the table by the door. since locking the doors on the 1979 chrysler new yorker, i anticipated dropping my backpack off in my room, and occupying the bathroom for a few seconds, freeing the mcdonald's sweet tea from within. (side note: i think i just made peeing sound kinda intriguing)
i washed my hands and played the staring game with myself, wishing the reflection was a real twin so i could hit the shit out of him for not asking him to sleep in my bed instead of his own.
or at least sit on it for hours while we play tag around the borders - fucking up the fitted sheets while doing everything but fucking.
fucking's not a thought right now.
i like him to much to fuck him this early.
(side note: this is one of those things that makes a guy realize he's growing)
i run the shower water and gargle with the scope.
between swishes from cheek to cheek i find new hopes.
i want to be home with him when the electricity decides to take a turn for the worst
so i can feed him cheesecake and yogurt with the lights out, laughing because i got some on his forehead.
i want to put a blank disc into the slot and fill it with the 18 songs that remind me of him.
i thought about grabbing my toothbrush and running to my car.
crank it up and pray i have enough gas to get me to that avenue of trees I know exist on the other side of silence.
hoping he placed his phone by his ear so he'd feel it vibrate when i texted.
tell him about the bench i found one night while walking off a creative high.
tell him to mapquest the spot and meet me there.
he'd say: 'why should i?'
i'd say: 'because i was standing in my closet and couldn't think of anything i'd rather be doing than playing a game of spades with the cards up with you at 4:45am - waiting to wake the sun up to let him know it's monday and he has work to do.'
he'd say: 'but i'm half sleep. i wouldn't be any fun.'
i'd say: 'if i was to tell you just how much i need you, would you come tonight?'
he'd say: 'yes.'
and i'd do that.
