Do you really have to sit so close?
You know I can see your hand,
I know I can stop it,
Slowly I find the stop command,
Failing to stop anything at all.
You know I don’t love you,
So why must you whisper it so in my ear?
How could I love such a thing,
As it grows more grotesque, barely even a fling,
Yet you grind ever so hungry,
Slide ever so bluntly,
My hand up your leg.
Places even Jesus couldn’t save,
Why don’t you see it, I’m not that misleading,
Little church girl, no,
I don’t love you.