Do you think you're beautiful enough to make heads turn?
Is that beauty rich enough to save some layers for my eyes only?
Are you smart? Not book smart, not street smart, not emotionally smart nor mathematician type of smart, but the smart that fits my smart ass punkish smile?
Do you know how to steal a car? I mean, I might be suffering from porphyria and one night when we come back from a bar, I might have to dig my fangs in your neck and some stupid ass vigilantes might take me for a vampire and chase me and wish they could pierce my beautiful white wide chest with some spike and I might have to flee, so a car might be needed. So. Do you?
Do you make love? Not as in "parental advisory" kind'o'programme, nor Barry White on pinkish silkish sheets, but as in creating. Can you really surround me with loving energy that make seeds grow and babies stop crying?
Do you laugh? Not at stupid comedies or my mystiphying jokes turned to blunders, but when the whole world is at stake and the apocalypse lies in wait.
Do you love yourself? Just as much as I would if you were the woman I hoped you would be and I guessed you would become?
Are you somewhere between an angel and a whore, being neither of them, but resembling both well enough to make me ask the above question?
Do you love lying naked in my consciousness, stripped of your defense mechanisms and still feeling on the top of your game?
Do you?
PS:
All the "NO"-s, you can go to hell and stop wasting my time.
All the "YES"-es, you can go to hell and stop wasting my time.
The position has been filled.
And the successful candidate is getting a raise as we speak.
