im afraid you’ll persuade me to come over and i can’t come over right now

 
so i never message you first
hand in my overgrown pubic hair

one time we talked about underwear
how if she wears a matching set then you didn’t surprise her;
she planned for sex
every time I’ve seen you lately I’ve been wearing a new clean matching bra and pants
every time I’ve seen you lately I’ve taken them off

am i too old to be weak with passion
or am i losing my imagination
it frightens me the scarcity with which i fuck
but it’s only so little because it can’t be you
and if it can’t be you i am sure to be disappointed one way or the other

so i talk to you only a little

oh to have you roughly scrub my coke-numb clit
bounce on you with furious anger
for you to choke me with murderous intent
thud and slap and cum

and then watch dave chapelle and you tell me about the craziest most awful people you’ve ever met
which is almost everyone

and lean out of the window smoking while the miscreants pile in and out of the shop below

yeah but i can’t come over so it’s useless to feel
no really i can’t, im not allowed