The Action Comes First

Let’s get this out of the way: I want to have sex
with you. We’d get mad freaky beneath the stage
in the final act. I would treat your clothes as if
they were asphyxiating your poor skin, which

they are. I would suck on your bottom lip as if
it were a bubbly, bottomless bottle of Coke. I
would lift you up and press you so hard against
the wall that my muscles would ache until we're

finally off to college. I’d part the wave of your

toes with my fingers and warm your inner thigh. I
would even grab your ass and I’m not much of an
ass man. But above all, I’d want for us to get stuck

at the very top of a Ferris wheel, swaying fifty feet
above the ground, where no one can see us together,
and I’d kiss you and kiss you until the carnies
rip us apart. But if not that’s cool, I’ll find another

girl from somewhere, and I’ll write a few dozen poems
for her, and give her the grand tour of my room, and
after I’ve fucked her I’ll even ask her to the school dance,
whatever it will take for you to call me by my name.