but i might be confusing love for
that brief moment when i wake up before everyone and feel the hum of sleep and the afternoon light hits his cheekbones in such a poetic way that it’s almost silly seeing as how
we crashed on a crusty futon after a night of inebriation, smoke breaks and psychedelic rock.
the thing is:
you put your warm mouth to my ear, thoughtlessly, and said
T’amo.
i’m taking that and pinning in to my
shirt.
one man’s trash might just be a woman’s
treasure.
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