It’s been undeniably dear to me, the collection of the moon in different phases, different nights. Split the bottle of wine in half, watch our bodies crash into the floors before the liquid. Sacred parts, your get-aways. You come along on winter days, tenderly, tastefully.
It’s different now that I’m poor and aging, I’ll never see this face again. I’m okay with that, I never was too fond of it. Though I can’t say the same about yours, I want to… no, need to see yours again and again and again. Lit in different lights, different feelings, different events. You’re bad news, but I won’t be saying hello to any angels anytime soon. Slave to details, well then hook me up and throw me, baby cakes, cause I like to get hooked. I hope you don’t get any sleep tonight either.