Obsessing

If
that boy
in the open linen shirt
instead of walking past
turned
and came into the Café
where I was sitting

And if
he sat down beside me
not across
but beside
and leaned in a little
so that I could smell him

And if
he put his hand on my knee
under the table
where no one could see it
and smiled
as though he had planned this

And if
he walked home with me
and came inside
waiting
as I locked the door behind us

And if
he followed me into my bedroom
and removed his linen shirt
revealing
a secret tattoo
and a playground scar

And if
he came close enough for me to feel
what his chest was like
and his hips
and that just below

And if
he lay down with me
on the unmade bed
displacing the cats
and my books
(without noticing)

And
if
he drew his knee up
between my legs
and kept it there
holding his place
as he bit down
hard. . .

I would tell him to go home
because it’s too fucking hot.