You may claim
that we'll just be friends
And that is how
it was meant to be.
Ten years from now,
I will still want
The taste of your tobacco lips
to swill in your musk
while my anxious tongue
flicks deliriously.
I will bend the crease
in the fiercest of your coattails
and stupidly wonder why
I burrow into untested waters
at once shimmering and empty
To allow myself to see
your rough hands
grabbing me by the hand
And pulling me closer
To keep me away. Forever.
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