But keep it a secret. He’s
in his bad boy mask. I can’t
resist that persona as if
the others weren’t magnets
too. But it’s part of the
black dirty hair, too long
jeans. What is it about this
kind of man that women
crawl to them? I can see my
self on my knees, even in
fragile fishnet tights. “Party”
I don’t think it’s a birthday
party with candles and
I doubt he wants to take me
out to read my poems
tho some time ago he did tell
me he wanted to talk
about them. To party suggests
drugs or sex a little rock
and rolling. The idea doesn’t
sound bad. Then, like in a
dream, plans change
and it’s over