who lives upstairs
and smiles slightly when he walks by
makes me tremble
when I see him
and I wonder
what he does
on a lazy Sunday afternoon
and if he eats omelets for breakfast
the way I like them
and Vincent
as I call him sometimes
takes out the trash on Tuesdays
and on Wednesdays he always drives away at 7 pm
perhaps to someone waiting for him
with sweaty hands and bright red lipstick
Vince my beautiful neighbor, once held the elevator
on one of my bad hair days
and he smells so dam good all the time
Vince from apartment 304
doesn’t really know I exist
but I lust for him anyway
and dream him into bed with me
cause I know he’d like my softness
and satin sheets, and snuggling in my white duvet
as we sip fine coffee in the morning…
Vince, who I know so well
would love me
and love running and
love radio head
and my Vince would love guinness beer.