count to four

written by nova reeves

laundry room behind the venue, quarter past last call your jacket on the washer, my back against the wall somebodys bassline bleeding through a busted cinderblock you watch my fingers on my thigh keeping time against the lock you say, you always this smug i say, only when im right then you bite back a smile so hard i nearly lose the fucking fight your boot gets caught on your other boot you laugh and grab the dryer door i say, baby, that is not the entrance i was hoping for

you lean in close, then stop yeah, you know that trick your hand at my waist, your mouth just fuck. okay. shit.

count to four dont touch me yet one, two, three make me beg count to four hold that look if you want the beat, sweetheart you better learn the hook

theres a red sock on the ceiling tile, no clue how it got there your belt hits the concrete loud enough to startle us both bare well, not bare, not yet, relax youre laughing in my neck and every time i think ive got you you go soft around the edge i catch you watching what your hands do when i breathe a little low you say, is this okay i say, youre fucking kidding, go then the ice machine behind the wall starts screaming like its paid we stand there losing it together while the whole damn room delays

you lean in close, then stop yeah, you know that trick your hand at my waist, your mouth just fuck. okay. shit.

count to four dont touch me yet one, two, three make me beg count to four hold that look if you want the beat, sweetheart you better learn the hook

kick, kick your knee between mine snare, snare youre taking your time one your thumb two my breath three dont start four

count to four dont touch me yet one, two, three make me beg count to four hold that look if you want the beat, sweetheart you better learn the hook count to four right there, dont move you keep playing that offbeat im gonna ruin you

dryer buzzes. nobody moves. somebody outside yells, you two alive you grin against my mouth and say give me four more