i have heard this tale before:
the fantasy is more piquant,
it’s better to be tempted and resist
than to be disappointed and lose.
i am resilient in this resistance.
i can forget about you when you’re not there.
i can put the hands, the smile, the consequences
behind me most of the week, the time, the weak.
but i think about a night like tonight.
i could be less fucking clumsy but too late.
i got stuck in your car, and you laughed,
“looks like you’re not leaving at all.”
and i wished it was true, i couldn’t believe
the fishing hook caught onto the seatbelt.
it was like you caught me, the fish.
the bird, the wolf, whoever i am.
i wished your hands were even closer
when i looked down on them, i was hot,
you don’t ever seem to know this,
but it’s my best kept secret, most of the
time i can keep it under control, the wanting.
but tonight i can’t deny i denied a fox,
i wanted to play a game, to flirt boldly,
but my smaller hands don’t work as well
whenever i’m caught in moments like this
and i’m hiding smiles behind your back…
and it was the first time, after you freed me,
that i was both guilty and appreciative.
and for a moment, i wished something was real,
i wished that somehow you knew the truth.
but the better part of me knew i wouldn’t say it.
being brave in the past has costed me,
it’s like jumping and diving at the last second,
and hoping it turns out for the best even if it won’t.
i know there are people who think i am a person
who could have anyone i wanted to, but it’s just
not true, it never has been, i never defined beauty,
i am the champion of making the first move,
and it never happens the other way around,
i take what i want when i want to, but you are
the slow ache i haven’t had in a long time,
just like i haven’t had anybody in a longer time.
so i will have to wait. for you to speak,
for you to touch me, for you to ask me.
i am compelled to wait because this is
a spell that i don’t want to undo or ruin,
a fantasy that i am too afraid to lose.
i don’t know the real you and i don’t know
what you really think about me, and you
always joke that it’s me and the other guy, and
i don’t know if you’re looking close enough,
and i don’t ever talk about it, it would be
a plea to my naiveté, guilty, as always,
a plea to seduction, guilty as always.
it doesn’t matter, at night i will lie in bed
and think about you, maybe you’re
teaching me how to fish or hunt,
and maybe in imagination there is
not a sign of repercussions or heartbreak,
and you remain, as always, the man of my dreams.