It's Your Fault

There are things I know about you that you don’t talk about. It makes it more attractive and exciting that way. No one likes a braggart. It’s in the way you nod and touch my knee during conversation. It’s in your walk. It’s in the look you give me at dinner. You’re hungry, I know.

Its unspoken, but you know that even if you hold my wrists down and I fight against you, I want to lose. It’s all part of knowing where I fit in that moment. Its part of feeling at home, completed.



And even when my anger flairs because you’ve got me all right and I wont admit it, you smile and carry on because you know your right. I don’t have to tell you. I don’t have to reassure you. I don’t even have to do more than deny it. You know I am lying. You let me have my dignity for now. Later you might not be so nice.



And there are things I know too that you will just have to –get- me to do. It’s fun, this game, unspoken and filled with electricity. Its fun making it last, spreading it out into weeks and months of sheer proximity torture. It’s almost more than I can take and I can take so much more. I’ll take anything you give and nothing more.