Friday, February 6, 2009

a lifetime in your smile

I don't fuck my friends.
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I wish I could say the same.

We should have been friends. Really, we should have.
I don't know how to play nice with boys,
which is why I either:
1. leave them alone
2. flirt and tease
3. fuck 'em
4. love them
5. cross the line

That list is not exhaustive.
I still haven't figured out why I don't seem to want to play nice with boys.
I mean, what's the point?
If I want to commiserate, I'll hang with my girlfriends
(that is really all we seem to do, I swear, and it gets old.)
but if I want to talk, and play, and get down,
I'll roll with the dudes.
(it's just more fun to share physical and mental intimacy!)


I still wish we would have been friends,
which could have been possible, maybe...
or, not.
As soon as I would have got a glimpse of that trillion-dollar smile
and a lick of that intellect-driven arrogance,
I would have been done;
butter in your hands,
like I was before.


But the butter has chilled
and that connection
(maybe I imagined it all?)
seems to have fizzled in the rain
of our separation.
I think I'll always want for your friendship,
long after the summer rain and thunder
of kisses and first-time bites
behind tinted windows
fades.

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