he wants me to write of him; in the din of our world our separate peace
he wants to read how my words describe what our private dreams we wish to share do to me; or he wishes to crawl within my head and know my secret thoughts of him
words that require decoding because, well, he knows that every thought I reveal, I say a thousand more
so he wonders how would my contradictions describe one of —what— thousands of fleeting sexual thoughts of him?
assuming …. do I? today —where, how, and how many…. such a bad boy —
No just a player —he needs my mind fucks to get through his day
But I know he’s just a player
I’m your mind fuck forever seared into your mental retinas
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