I count from 1 to 3
then asked you if you were ready.
I saw the hesitation in your eyes
but you said go instead.
I pushed your skinny body onto my squeaky bed,
positioned myself and licked your head.
You were smiling like a nervous little prey ready to surrender
and I smirked like a satisfied predator.
I adored you and your innocence.
My guilty pleasure.
My accidental lover.
You planted a soft kiss on my mouth
and I slapped you,
softly saying “No kissing, remember?”.
You called what we did “love making”
and I simply refer to it as a mission accomplished.
I blew smoke on your asthmatic face
and you act as if you weren’t so annoyed.
You even tried to take it from my hand
and sip from the devil’s straw.
But honey…I’m looking through you
and you reek of normal, mundane shitty fairytale love,
all roses and cruising with your bike.
Well, let me tell you something…
I am not capable of love
and I don’t know how to ride a bike.