Friday night fills me
Up like a memory
Made of water and I'm
An ever-shrinking cup.
It looks messy in the daylight
Because it was.
I do not remember so much,
But that we made it back to my bed
But whatever is now starting between us
Is so last minute,
Is it worth it?
Or does it make it even more valuable?
I leave soon for university,
And he will stay here.
I think,
It doesn't matter
What this is:
We are in this
For the sex.
Don't be surprised,
I am ready, I want to
And I think maybe
He wants to too.
YOU ARE READING
Petrichor
PoetryWe grow old eventually {here are the waking thoughts that consume me}