our hands are tied
delighting in the irony,
i dance around straightforwardness
to escape the human condition:
it’s all so vague, just games of words.
and not the type to gamble, i
consider the obvious:
with your hands on my hips
and your lips against mine,
i sense an undeniable longing,
disparately desperate to have what you want
or want what you have
so tonight, i know what to expect
when i finally choke every doubting wonder
to utter a question.
should we maybe talk about saturday?