by Georgina Jeronymides-Norie
so, I guess we’ll just pretend that you don’t plead:
make me yours, please, make me yours
when you lock my thighs around your hips
that you don’t bite your lip harder when I hold your gaze
that your fingers don’t glide along my back
longing for an invitation to stay
so, I guess we’ll just pretend that we don’t want anything more
that intermittent heart and fire emojis are enough
or, more sensibly, I will believe all that has and hasn’t been said
accept that I have created meaning where there is none, let us just be bodies.
I’ll lay your plea, panting upon pillow, next to my unspoken, starved of breath:
baby, if I make you mine, will you stay?