The Quad at Night

There is a particular voice that I don't want to have when I grow up.
You keep talking the small talk that makes me uncomfortable, negatable.
If the slit in your skirt gets any higher, I will know you intimately.
I want to be a different kind of sexy, with a little mystery.

They bike-to-kill with their I'm-so-eco-friendy-fuck-a-human-attitude.
The whir that makes me jump when I hear it close to my heels.

Million-dollar grass so thick that it doesn't move when the wind blows.
I swear they move the trees in May for a better view of the stage.

The new ones, on cell phones, bleed their hormonal wounds for witnesses.
Eager for validation.

Somethings are private.

I am certain that I don't care that:
you promised to take things slow (Ohmygod)
and now he's passing out his cock like candy at every college party (Ohmygod)
Your casual displays sound like you'd take him back anyway.