I used to let my thoughts wander.

I'd let my thoughts wander,
only they always seem to come back the the same place,
and that's not freedom, is it?

I'd write 'I don't know', but I can hazard a guess,
it's a sort of fascination, like looking at a beautiful piece of art
and it moves you when you do
but you wouldn't want to go to bed with it.
It's the feeling I get from writing this,
where my tongue feels clear and receptive,
but I wouldn't want to hear its panting,
sweat-heavy breaths and its rise and fall all night long.
You're too innocent. That's why I feel safe with you.
Please prove me right, because I couldn't bear to be wrong again.
I know if I get close to you, you'll end up lifting off your exterior and look down triumphantly,
expecting me to be impressed that you're just another boy.