Press Home to Unlock

You don’t know me.

You see a suit
and a tie
and invent, what,
a lawyer?
a trader?

You see a penthouse
with stunning,
panoramic
views of
a bank account
as wide
and endless
as the sprawling city
below.

I might smell of
fast cars,
foreign holidays,
or just a hint of
private jet

and to you
my voice
might be a
mellow blend of
malt whiskey

Press Home to Unlock

and à la carte
and closing deals
over Bluetooth
and black coffee.

But this,
none of this,
is me.

Instead,
press your face,
like a thumbprint,
against mine,
unlock me
with the honesty
of your
unique self,
with a kiss,
and I will show you
everything
precious,
everything
that matters.