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(The way the rich guy was touching the cool girl's leg last night. Red flags) - 2024 March 19 |
You fingers look like they smell like money.
You touch her skin like an auction paddle.
I wonder if she feels the worms inside like me,
But just sits still.
God I hope she’s numb enough.
Another line-item of equity.
Your questions wear the tone of commands:
“Why don’t you leave your car; I’ll drive you back.”
Everything beyond this small streetlight where
we say Goodnight looks black in my mind.
Another acquisition in line.
Your stories set you laughing, like
An invitation for everyone to remember—
To tell a story at their own party
About how funny you always are.
Another deposit in the bank.
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