I met her on the highway,
and rubbed her wrist,
before we were on our way.
From artists to assholes,
sluts to saints,
we are all here on this sphere.
I threw a bottle of vodka
out the window of the Corolla,
and it smashed near a grave.
And from year to year,
we try to stay near
what makes us love weird.
I sometimes rhyme
and sometimes don't,
yet I sometimes won't.
Moving on is like making music
or making a meal,
it takes time and skill and it must be real.