My desire towards Erik was no secret.

Puerto Rican and Italian mixed

created in the Bronx

he’s exactly the type of guy

my mom never wanted me to bring home.

I hungered towards his dark curly hair,

thirst for his brown complexion.

A passion I wrote two poetry books

to him.

Craving him like Lucy did for Dez.

We are six years apart.

The itch ended in Vegas,

when fans saw him making out

with a brunette.

The two year yearning

to be inside his arms,

longing to kiss his lips stopped.

I didn’t have urges to be in his pants

anymore.

I wished and wanted him,

but never feel the need to settle

as his sloppy seconds.