On Power

I’d do anything for you, but you say: No, let me. I wear the pants, but you call the shots. I’m holding aces, but you’ve got tricks up your sleeve. I’m always big spoon, but you’re always on top.

I wear the pants, but you look fucking hot in a skirt. I’ve read Rilke, but you’ve read Proust. I’m always big spoon, but you’re always on top. You can do pushups, but my arms are tattooed

(which, yes, hurt). I’ve read Rilke, but you’ve read Proust. Twice. And you liked it. Not even a yawn. You can do pull-ups, but I never bruise. You turn me on, but I get you off.

Twice. And you like it. Not even a yawn. Then you want to cuddle, but I want a sandwich. You’re still turned on, but my switch is off. Now I’m feeling smothered, but you’re feeling restless.

When I want to cuddle, you just want a sandwich. I press your buttons, but you declare war. You’re feeling smothered? Well, I’m feeling restless. You storm out, but I lock the door.

I press your buttons, but you press mine more! You point to the problem, but I pull the plug. You storm out, but I lock the door. I sleep around, but you fall in love.

You point to the problem. I just pull the plug. I’ve got a leg up, but you’ve got the upper hand. I’m sleeping around with no one I love. I know the bouncer, but you’re with the band.

I’ve got my legs up, but yours is the hand that I want between them. I give in. I concede. I’m a terrible bouncer when you’re with the band. I’ll do anything for you. Just say uncle. Let me.