Oh futility in these kisses
but I can’t help but fall so recklessly back to where we were
only three hundred and sixty five days ago.
May be a mistake.
But carnal hunger envelops me, blackens my vision,
claws out from the depths of my core
and I act savagely upon them.
I’ve not ruined anything,
except for maybe some deep buried feelings
whose surfaces I have exposed
by blowing softly upon the dust of denial.
(And also maybe some sheets.)
Rules, shall we?
A week latency period, before and after the fact.
I’m not a booty call.
If no kisses were a rule,
I would have been bitter.
For secretly in between,
I would touch him with the lips of a lover
and not a friend.
You can’t say I love you.
Or, at least
you can’t admit it.