Last, first
Second, third
I don't know if I can really spell anymore.

******* numbers.
Why does everything have to--
Documents, folders, texts, moments
First, last
I don't know if you are my last.

But I, I can't help it
I could cuddle up to you in a taxi cab
After you tell me to "come here"
A million times
Know me, I promise

And I can send you my poetry
Or I can play games
But I guess all I can really say
Is I do--I have the tendency
To sit here in my slip
Your jacket
And know this isn't supposed to just--
Just

Maybe its the masks behind me
Or the life you would lead
If I didn't disappear
Into smoke
But
If you
Covered me in Spanish and red chilli peppers
I meant what I said.
I promise that--

I would love it best
If you took off your shirt now
And forgot about any tomorrows.