Properties Of Friction

Oh, the motor in the back of your neck is begging and calling for  and the lizards are laying some monstrous eggs in an entropic tropical mess. While you’re sleeping, I’m crawling, I’ve crept to the edge of the bed where you’ve slept for a thousand nights alone in a cavern you call home.
I’m here so let’s do this. Your hands on my legs, you say the things I want to hear. Let’s please just keep touching. I don’t wanna think. Please keep me from thinking.
I missed your name! Can I hear it again? I missed your name! Can I hear it again? While you were talking my eyes kept walking down the walkway of your neckline so I didn’t hear you begging. Can I hear it again?
So many dreams have left me tired, waking up and shaking on my own. I ignored a ticking clock to call you and made a weapon of my phone. Poor judgment and [bad word] morals! girl without a penny for her thoughts! I guess I like you cheap. I guess that conscience long since rot has sent me spiraling so lost into the planet of your skin. There’s a fear that we will end that just won’t let me begin. And though I have no qualms with lust, your body is a howling, haunted petting zoo that I really shouldn’t touch.
And as I’m walking out the door for good, I turn around to look at you and you’re…
You’re already undressed!
If I draw near, do you disappear? If I stay away, will you call my name?