a lot of me is simply just talk.
I’ve daydreamed about lying in beds
and exploring the inside of various mouthes,
but won’t even lean forward and kiss a boy in the driver’s seat.
I admit to myself that the distant future would be nicer
if it included someone I could share a bottle of wine with
in the candlelit, after work glow
but tell strangers that
“I don’t think I’ll ever want to get married.”
I pretend that intimacy isn’t something I need,
but find myself studying pictures of intertwined bodies
for a few seconds too long.
I wonder how long it’ll take for
everybody else to catch on to the truth-
that I’m thirsty for affection even when I turn down offers
from those who claim to be able to quench my thirst.