come over, 12:40 am

hola, q tal? 

pues yo bien, y tu? 

hesitant fingers type confidently as if attached to another person's body that is not mine. 

and yet. 

here i am. 12:40 am. 

moving mountains and my plans 

just to put your palm in my palm 

squeeze my fingernails into your spine,

scratch the scars whose origins i'll never know

and say goodbye again.

anything for that rush, 

i'm so stuck. 

there's something specifically sickening 

about always being available for a man 

when you are 

their very last plan. 

the last person in their message history

at 12:40 am. 

but here I am

bending over this windowseal

practically diving into the pavement

to catch a glimpse of you coming up to greet me

in spite of me

I may not be proud but at least I am honest

and isn't that something to be proud of 

after all. 

two people wanting pleasure and only one wanting you to stay

we know who is who

have known this whole time

and the advantage, 

my vice, my sweet honey (can I call you honey?) 

that belongs to you.