Sometimes in the heat of the moment as my hands are around you and our lips are locked tongues inserted daintily in each others' mouths. I lose focus and wonder what I'll be doing in a year from then. usually I predict it'll be raining and I'll be sitting on my couch watching old Bob Hope films pretend laughing to my self. Then, I run out of breath, our lips let go and be both gasp for air focusing on lighter neck kisses gently pressing lips against your satin flesh, the thought continues: I'll be eating pop corn-- no, ice cream with a chocolate ring around my mouth. My shirt will fit tighter and I'll have a stain over the left pocket from when I wore it the day before. I'll smell of bad bio with sour milk from the bowl of yesterday which is growing a bacteria culture. Also, my bloodshot eyes, drooping like an old hound dog's, will burn from exhaustion as I continue to pretend to laugh at the TV. Then you'll start to kiss me rubbing your hands through my hair, around my neck and slowly down my chest and again I'll flash forward my head turned staring at the telephone thinking I should call you,but I know you won't answer. Your hands grasp my belt buckle, pull flinging open the metal bracket pulling the trigger I flash to the future I see wuss self crying because sometimes I say too much in my own poetry (like how I lose focus or how you get weird pimples on the back of your thigh which oozes Vesuvian puss if I grasp too hard) pretending you'll never read it but knowing full well that you will, do and just have.