5-4-3-2

i want to love a man with a white collar job and yakuza tattoos under it. (though you know, i am not a fan of white boys showing off pictures of koi, reminders of  things they’ve never seen; or writing they can’t read like it adds to their persona defined. it does nothing for my racist mind.) together we'd live in Malaysia. maybe Singapore if it's not too fashionable at the point in time. we’d lie together and i’d imagine his shirt getting wet as he walked home through rain. i’d wonder, did passers-by see what little i’ve claimed for me. you know, we couldn't meet till he got inked up, i couldn