when i said i was drunk i was stone-cold sober

i bet you’d taste good in the morning.

i bet you’d roll over and stare me down,

bite your lip, move in for the kill.

i bet my legs would buckle,

my hands would shake,

my heart would flutter,

and i’d kiss you back like my life depended on it.

i bet you’d taste like first love.

but you’d fuck me like you hate me,

because you hate me,

you hate the thought of me buckling under you in the morning.

you hate to imagine what i’d taste like bathing in sunlight,

the first traces of spring clouds playing in shadows on my lips.

you hate to picture how i’d look at you from under my eyelashes

how i’d whisper your name and cum quietly

waiting til i get you there before crashing into you,

the little death paralyzing me over and over again.

you only want to stare at the curls in my hair

your fist grabbing a handful of blonde

your other hand resting sweaty-palmed on my ass.

you’d hurt me, leaving red marks and deep pink scars,

emotional instability that would ruin me for months.

you’re the man my parents warned me about.

the kind who gets what he wants from me

because fuck,

you’re just so pretty.

i’d let you have it though.

i’d let you take me and take me and take me

let you hurt me and hate me over and over again

let you burn me from the inside out, tear all my nice clothes (the ones i spent hours picking out the night before, just to impress you)

let you ruin me for all other men

because

i would do anything to find out how you taste in the morning.