There is something to be said about those who want more
Some level of discontentment, that level's unsure,
Another look, another call, another day, Oh God please
Or the hopes of what doesn't come and the hurt of that tease.
I am one of those people of whom I speak
Some level of boredom when thinks tend to peek,
Anxious and worried that this is all there is
Not caring of the outcomes, neither mine nor his.
I spend too much time dreaming of all that's amiss
Thinking and plotting for a chance just to kiss,
In the end I will send him right out of my door
With my constant pushing for just a little bit more.
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