A girl like you and boys like abandoned ship bells

You’re a weather pattern.
You’ll fall like the leaves when your heart grows cold, hibernate until you’re ready to blossom again and wear short skirts and attract the bees when the heat almost becomes unbearable.
There’ll be a drought and when it rains it’ll pour.
And pour it does.
They wait politely for you to take your pick and have your way with them, while you wish they would just have the guts to push you against a wall and have their way with you.
Politeness is a killer in the tug of love and sex. These things are never meant to be polite. They are intrusive by nature.
And intrusion is what you want.
You want the eyes to hold your breath when hands are around your throat and your knickers around your ankles and you need a crooked accepting smile to be sent your way when you’ve opened up and exposed yourself, little by little.
So you throw the reins up into the air and hope one of them will catch them.