I'm not sure what it is that we're sipping out
of this plastic cup at three in the morning,
but it smells like the sound of desire,
and it sounds like the feel of possession.
I'm all bare legs and you're all big eyes, and
I think about you during Physics class – don't take
too long before contact, or we'll lose momentum –
and Mathematics – you and I, x, have no real roots.
I'm losing the moments when the air doesn't taste of you.
Soon, we will be a beginning, which you will turn into the end,
and when you said "innocent", you didn't hear its echo:
You act like I belong to you, my ass and my little
heart of gold, but the thing is –
you're probably right.