A Strange Man

Not quite Stockholm Syndrome, but something much more mild.

What they don't tell you

About getting in the car with a strange man

Is that he'll tease you when the clutch jerks,

Call you names reserved for long-time lovers,

speak truths about vices,

And ask you the most intimate questions

about failed relationships.

Then he accidentally touches you,

his fingers caressing, massaging a place that took others

very long to get to if they got there at all.

It’s a place where you’d wish he’d always be,

because the odd comfort, which you recognize as love,

or at least strong affection through companionship

makes you want to cling to him

and when he says we’re best friends,

you knew hours ago, but didn’t dare say.

This is dangerous because all the while,

That poisonous candy awaits

And of course you know better,

But the temptation has already led you into evil

And Satan is quite the confectioner.

Author's Note

All metaphorical, obviously. The stupid boy from Due still has me writing about him.