I keep trying to push my words into you / even now I am writing you this poem as if it might fill you up with something I can really sink my teeth into. I am writing you this poem, even if you never asked for it. Even though I know you won't understand it. It feels so good anyway / and besides, I don't know what else to do. And besides, I like to see you / take the bait. I like to see you hoping. I hope one day you will understand the feeling of being lost inside yourself / though I know you will not. You are not one to turn your head away from something you want. And why should you? Although it can be equally delicious / Here, I'll show you. We stare at each other from across the street, waiting for the light to change, your breath unfurling in slow motion. I wonder how you hope this will unfold. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Tell me no / despite your spreading pupils and the skip of your pulse / but I know you. The truth is: we are as haunting as we are haunted. And it won't stop. I will wait until it is late and you are most tired. I will whisper something heady into your neck. I will linger on you / until something interesting happens. You are thinking: this is a bad plan. But everything is a bad plan when you are impatient. You cannot block someone's path towards what they want most. Well, you can try / but it doesn't do any good. You should know. Really, this is my last attempt. I looked over my shoulder to make sure you were watching. I wrote you this love poem. I stood between two mirrors, reflected infinitely / I fogged up the glass and traced your name in cursive. I painted a self-portrait / and for once I was so angelic. Lithe. Beautiful, even.