the underage mcdonalds crush
I told you always was so sweet
to call me "sweetheart" every time
with drive-by drivethrough southern charm
is never there when I drive through.
She never did exist at all, in fact
I made her up complete
that one time that I mentioned it
off top of head, midstream in chat.
You've prodded me for updates since.
A sweet and corny playful act
I don't know how to break it, now.
We've both become quite fond
of her.
Attached,
you might
have said.
You know,
somehow? The whole thing's
purely innocent. Which you
knew quite damn well! Except
- it isn't? Isn't it.
Your trust -
a touch, I do confess,
abused
- I really don't know why
at all. I'm not the sort to trick
or lie. I'm just
confused.
But one point catches on the nail,
and snags a bit. Alas! The details
devil us. I could have made her
anything, and
she was blonde. You know. I must
confess, I do confess
a touch
suspicious, isn't it?
Or purely innocent,
but only just.
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