youre my photographer
and im your hepburn(or at some point in a brief glimpse to me we were these) but my face is a little funnier
and neither of us can waltz and
really we aren't even in love like them but
i do however love the sun and the rain in her (hepburn's") old Hollywood voice!
her voice was so picture perfect in that way
and I kind of want to be in love with you (minus the river and that drift wood dancing cause neither of us can dance much less to your ****** gangster rap and definitely not on driftwood) but I also think that being in love with you would be a surprising amount like waltzing to rap music on driftwood on a river
but if there's a world where hepburn has a 'funny face' then who knows maybe we could find a rhythm
or maybe we'd just get very soaked in river water

Reality like the dull edge of an old knife –
no cuts, just rips. I want to go back
to warm fall nights at the train station.
When I still talked to Audrey and we made lemon bars
and we solved problems with incremental strategies.
We danced in the daylight in the shimmer
of passing trains. Now every time I answer the phone
my heart skips a beat. It’s never who I want.
Like a countdown clock on being okay. Or,
setting fire to a field and fanning the smoke.
Signal coming up from West Virginia –
do I belong to the valleys or the hills?
I’m clawing my way through to reach the desert.
We talk about visiting in such roundabout ways.
Like everything – just close your eyes
and say what you’re feeling. The silence is eating
me away and when it’s finished I’ll be a question:
“do you feel the same?”

A ngel
U nique
D ainty
R ighteous
E legant
Y ears

H eroine
E loquent
P riceless
B eautiful
U NICEF
R ise
N oble

Not being able to decide between
Audrey
and
Katharine
is not a real problem, my friend!

The hardness of life begins
when you meet
Bette
and
Grace.

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PAO8vlvPS88]

PS:
have you seen
Lauren
and
Greta?
They might have changed their phone number.

The more he thought about it, the more Audrey she became, until her class, grace, breathtaking good looks and her smile were just cinematic.

Now it dawned on him why he couldn't get his mind off her. She had that Audrey Hepburn air and like Roman Holiday he just couldn't look away

Limelit tendrils kiss her face,
A muscular ball gown crowned with a poisonous dew.
Before the light, as a tiny arrowhead in indoor dirt
Acid steeped inside her while she waited for the day and grew.
She waits still for the day when she escapes and exhales 
In a virulent chemical coronation with much ado.
Her green ****** breath will choke your lungs and
Lay waste to all things in a pheremonic haze and glue.
 
Concrete parts for her roots in the noxious shade of a wilted steel jungle
As she scrapes the sky like a biocidal yew.
Useless eyes rotting out of useless skulls,
Pulling species to their knees to subdue.
An orgiastic tundra of moss and skin and fur
Piling like toxic snow on a human avenue.
Cold-skinned vines pulsate toward one another
Humming strangely and whipping through
And ever upward to meet the bright desert light
Beyond her glorious emerald lair of flesh and mildew.