in my mustache, some of which is cocaine
from last week, most of which is useless aside from
evaporating water and poetic inspiration,
a luxury of boogers, a pick me up.
evaporating water and poetic inspiration,
a luxury of boogers, a pick me up.
about a half an hour later,
in a small cafe, I was caught in a daydream,
dreaming of the past, of your face,
thinking to myself,
what the hell am I doing in this place?
gonna fill up my coffee cup
with memories of sex in stairwells,
arguments in parks, etc,
two drunk kids who didn't knot
what love was for.
I look up at the ceiling,
my eyes wide,
thanking the sky
for thinking of where I was to soar
just before you walked through the door.