Why are we so good at pretending that nothing happened?
At creating idle talk as you steal away with the physical actions
That you just scavenged.
And we smoke our smokes so casually, acting brazenly like we don't care
About the friction that spawns from our addiction
As we spilled crazily out of
Then slipped coyly right back into our underwear.
"My shirt is under where?"
"...I think It's under there..."
And in the darkness
In our part bliss
I stole light kisses as you stroked my hair.
And when the light hit
We exchanged wits and poor jokes
And we took our time to cover up what just then was so bare.
And the air in the room
Tainted so lightly
Slightly with the sweet aroma
Of wild sex and perfume.
And I've said your name so many times
in that block of time
That I no longer understand what it's linked to...
And I love the pain of the scratches
That you left on my back and the bite marks
A claim to territory left in the dark.
That always catches my attention.
Dare I mention
How the sounds you make drive me crazy?
We laugh and squint
Our eyes against
The cigarette smoke that made the room so hazy.
How can this be wrong when it feels so amazing?
Maybe that's why we can pretend that nothing just happened.
Passionless sex is often one-sided
And always ends pretty tragic...