This is fiction.
Take it easy, baby. Before I have your baby.
Before you have mine. Before you tuck a bump. Before little miss misses menses. Before it is Mrs. Before I owe the jeweler. Before we expedite an engagement. Before you feign surprise. Before we become “best friends”. Before you ring your mother, and ask her to sit down. Before my father asks me to step up. Before we budget for cravings, cereal and confetti. O je ma rora, baby. This is not confetti economy.
We’re gon make magic.
If you keep doing that thing. If you keep walking, talking, lurking, sulking, gawking like that. We’re gon be fucking like this. Like we’re on a timer. Like we have somewhere to be, something to see. It will be destructive—head to head, toe to toe, back and forth, like we are at war. Like there is no love lost, just lust. It will be dramatic—like we’re in a vampire movie scene. Like I am Stephan, Damon; like I am a starving demon. Like I am locked out of heaven, and the keys are your kiss. It will be desperate—like I waited all my life, like I am burning in parts that only your saliva can salvage; defilibrating—like I am running out of breath and my o2 is on you, like I am searching for my pulse inside you. I will be living for it, dying for it — like it is resuscitating, like it is salvation. It will be demeaning, disgusting—like quiet, gurgles and full baths after; like text the group chat with many vowels, ys and exclamation marks. It might be dangerous — like did the rubber slip, rip? So are we going to post it within 72, return it in 8, or welcome it in 9? If we do the latter, remember — we will call her “Magic”.
Your aura is too contagious.
You should keep a distance. I can tell when you are around, I can perceive you from miles away. Like animals, like marooned animals. You reek of intention, perversion, compulsion. I’ll be preying on you, I’ll be praying for you. The way you address me, feels like you want to undress me. You should do it differently. You should be curt, prim. We should lay ground rules. You should not look up to me like that, say my name like that. You should not be texting that. I’ll be reminding the man in the mirror: I am honorable, never lost in lust; my desires do not fester, I do not pester. I’ll be meditating on godly things. You’ll be over there goading, gobbling the good in me. Stop that thing. That thing. You know what I mean.
I’ll be thinking of it three times daily, then late at night — I’ll be dosing on it, I’ll be dozing on it. I’ll be staring at your lips, gazing at the follicles at your neck — I’ll be waiting to tongue the bitterness of your cologne, the salt at your ear lobes. I’ll be monitoring your heartbeat from the bulge in your bust. I’ll be hearing your breath, breathing your air.
Take it easy, baby. Because I’ll be saying yes all the time — like I carry your baby, like it’s December on Twitter. You should reserve some for later. You should not be starting more with a finished man. Sticks. Stones. X and Os. Sixes and nines. Squares. Pegs. Rounds and rounds. Like we have nowhere to be. Like we have all the time.
I’m betting on we.
You see my flaws and it’s fine. I see desire in your eyes — raw, unbridled, persisting. And I too want to be wanted. You make me believe it’s my time. Like we’re about to be something. Like we might design the divine. Like I am swimming in the spiritual. Like heaven is with me when I dine. I’ll be down all night to get some, to get lucky; like I am Pharrell, for real; like it is happy hour.
Like I am about to be great. Like I am about to liberate my race. Like I am about to part your sea with my staff, march through your bridge for rights. You’ll be chasing, swinging. I’ll be mounting my podium, stretching, saying unrehearsed things. I’ll be mathing, lathering, kinging. I’ll be having a dream.
I’ll be awake after to ask existential questions, to ponder to myself. Who am I? What is this? How is it so easy, how am I so hard? What have I become? Who are you? Who are you? Who are you? How do you do this to me? How does it end? I’ll be needing a moment. Can you take it easy?
