Of pacman in a smokey, dimly lit arcade
Hits from the 90s blare over your feeble passes at me
While I sip on my vodka lemonade your eyes focus on my pouty lips
And I feel it, I know what you're thinking
Of sexual escapades
involving the length of my legs wrapped erotically around him
I hear Marcy Playground filling the space around my ears
The second I challenge his stare he folds
And says "God you're gorgeous"
My conscious smiles at the his refraining of words like 'pretty'
Inebriated, I stumble into his chest
he takes my moves for green lights
But we won't go home together
Such is a symptom of a disease
That changes the scent of pheromones from sweetness to temptation that is governed by lust and physical desire
I can have him or his twin
But only for the night
