Real or not real?

You're pretty. Intense, leather jacket, windswept hair and I'm thirsty. When it adds up I don't want to do the math. I catch your eye and already we're playing. Me, the little girl with the big mouth and you, the bad boy with a heart. We skirt the lipstick stains in the room and I follow you around like a lamb to slaughter - doe eyed and dangerous. When it's time for me to leave you won't let me go. You claim ownership and the dramebaaz in me soaks in the sitch till I'm lit up like a building on fire. Bhenchod. I should know better. 2 am and we're swishing through flyovers. It's cold so you shrug off your leather jacket and I look like a gangster child. Badass, I think, and let you play the hero.
One arm distance in a 5 foot box and I'm shooting my mouth off.
"I could shut you up right now", you say, eye to mouth
Fuck.
I dare you.
But the girl who knows better says chutiye and runs.

I show you my city of shining audacity and you watch me move till I'm restless and craving.
All I really want to do is run my fingers through your hair to see if it's as smooth as it looks and maybe give you a hug.
You challenge me and I speed read the scene before it happens. A hug melting into a kiss melting into cinnamon and chocolate and rainbow sprinkles melting into guilt, fuck.
I shove but I've never hugged leather before and underneath the shield you're just a scared little boy so when e-motion sickness kicks in, I won't regret you.
I know you think I gave you a rose because you're pretty but your face is only skin deep. I gave you a rose because if I slit your skin you'd shine darker and maybe some of your hero-ness would rub off on me. Maybe just this once I'd be stronger for giving in.

I don't know you. I don't know the secrets sewn into your smile or the anger walling up your veins. Midnight magic is a gift and you take it.
Specially if it's a girl with secrets lining up her insides.