If you want me, don’t tell me. I prefer these chance meetings, your white smile in the dark. I like when you wear that shirt that’s a little too tight around the arms. I like the tattoos—the sleeve, the angel on your thigh. I like that your living body honors the dead.
If you want me, don’t tell me. I don’t want to have to make up my mind. I don’t want to have to think about how much you make or how you make it. I don’t want to think about how much time you could spend with me.
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