We know how you work, mangy flirt. Blinking your eyes, fixing your hair. When there's nothing to fix there!
I can smell and touch it alike. Fluctuating acknowledgement of relevance. Look at me, at me like I'm a killer! If you look at me at all.
Look at me. Not your shoes. Not your hair.
Your mind shushed your lips, but I can tell I'm deep in the pits of your mind and your eyes converse with mine all the time. Because women are forever walking the tightrope of maturity and integrity.
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