Beautiful After Sunset

He wants to be seen by only few. The mass makes him anxious. I did’t believe him because he made his wealth from his look, not his talent. His shyness, to me, is a gift. An unassuming man is so attractive.

We always meet after sunset when people barely make out who they see. It suits us to tug away somewhere fading into the evening lights. He is so beautiful and soft. I always want to pinch his cheeks to make them blush for me, and I almost tell him that he is my triple crush, all in the span of sharing a burger and fries.

“What are you thinking?” he asks. I am caught off guard, I choke on some pickles, coughing and laughing. Finally when I regain my breath. I look into his eyes and say, “you are beautiful after sunset.” He fixes his gaze on me and holds my hands, slowly and softly, he murmurs, “I only bloom at night.” Oh mine, I have just discovered his poetic talent. “And you are more than a pretty face.” I chuckle.

This is not me

I am having a real hard time
to accept how oversharing
I am with you

It’s like constantly breaking a moral code
As if I had been lying all those times
before your arrival
All the descriptive words about me
aloof, distant, absent, drifted, silent…

I am completely being inappropriate
As if I am possessed by a chatter box amplifier
manifests itself in file download with high speed optic fibre
flying to be stored in your digital briefcase
the moment I am awake
synchronicity is in autopilot

Oh hacker! get me out of here
before my cheeks burn into hot coals