Now they were all lined up—secretly, stupidly hopin’ for a taste of the same.
The boy whoeatswithout fuckin’.
The one whomoanswithout feelin’.
But every girl was thinkin’ the same thing:If that's how he eats a pussy he don’t even want or like...
what the fuck happens when he’s in love?
Since Roxy, the numbers have climbed.
One girl became dozens.
And every one swore he left her cryin’, shakin’, screamin’ into pillows.
They wrote his name in lipstick,
on mirrors,
scratched into lockers.
Hardinginside doodled hearts,
orgasmic nights woven into songs.
They all tried to keep him
longer than one time.
Tried to turn the moment into endgame.
But none of 'em could.
A myth doesn't end,
it's only born,
passed around,
retold.
And Andrew Harding's started right here?—
one summer night in Jersey,
one hood, one girl everyone forgot,
and the mouth no one’s ever recovered from.
20 /COMING HOME
LEON BRIDGES
// ALLISON - NOV 12, 6:11 PM - PENTHOUSE - UPPER EAST SIDE, NYC //
It’s late.
Afternoon’s creeping toward night,
