He was born in the year of the monkey
although he doesn’t know this, and
his dating profile says that he’s a Sagittarius,
even though his birthday is in October.
It sounds sexier, I guess.
He says there will be bonus points
for a woman who doesn’t smoke
but he ain’t opposed to rippin’ cotton
on a Friday night with the boys
if things get rowdy.
A swipe right could sponsor that unearned
confidence, but if we never match, how
could I send him a gif of melting ice cream,
telling him things that make his dick
hard and soul soft, have him sputter
about reading Shel Silverstein in grade one
while thinking of my tits, be a bush fire
for a thirsty moth, flay back those layers
until he just sees a woman holding his liver
like a crying fledgling, and tapping out
could never lessen the knowing that he’s not