See, the thing about talent is,
it never really dies.
Sure, it hides from time to time,
or rather, it hibernates.

I used to attempt to capture in writing all of the times I never thought I'd have the time to recall later in life.
To capture a moment I thought I'd never have the opportunity to live again.
To cage a thought I thought would live wild and free for the rest of my life.
To say farewell to a moment in a way that was gracious, but final.

auf wiedersehen, dear moment.
Au revoir, sayonara, so long.

I thought I'd never see you again.
Boy, was I wrong.

Sometimes all you need to admit that you're uncharacteristically cool with all of this is a bit of liquid courage and a pinch of frustrated madness swished around until you're sarcastically committing to loving the **** out of your current situation with a vague suspicion that you're not actually being ironic.

Then I'd say that there's way too many Mustangs on this godforsaken base.

Contrary to what you may be thinking,
I am not a contrairian.
I like to play Angel's Counsel to your Devil's Advocate, but not just because I've been drinking.
(Though, to be fair, I have been, but forgive me. I'm celebrating.)
Anything worth debating always has two sides.
Try seeing them both for a change before dividing the lines.
And while it may sound contradictory at times, and doesn't end in a rhyme,
just meet me in the middle, *******!

It hides in the everyday now,
buried underneath.
It waits for us to pull back the veil that reveals the truth we spend the rest of our time longing for, loathing, hoping for, holding on to.  

It rides on the wings of the things we forget to say, that we only think of an hour later, or the next day.

It hides in our heads until we go to sleep then presents itself in our dreams with such pristine clarity.

It's everything you've ever wanted life to be when you feel too weak to put in the effort.

It's everything you've ever wanted life to be when you're too tired to think about how to best spend your next free hour.

It sleeps inside us all,
but we're exasperated by its power.

What bae wants, bae gets.

Tbh, idk what do we call each other.

Her body is covered in marks, symbols, phrases in different languages. I trace the coils of the snake on the back of her neck as she sits between my legs in the bath tub.

Style above everything else, arced over a faced half-sun dawning above her *** crack.

"You're into fashion," I said, as I re-position my shaft from P to R to feel some friction below the horizon.
She wiggles her bottom after the gear shift.

"Yes, very much."

You can call me whatever you want.
If I told you I ****** a girl last night, would your feelings be hurt?

Did you?? Be honest.

Side by side in bed, breathing heavy, sweaty, spent:
"Nihongo ga benkyo . . . I want to learn more Japanese so I can talk to Japanese girls. Nihon josei . . . is it josei?"

"Un, Nippon josei. Japanese women."

"Nippon josei ga kirei desu . . . Japanese women are the most beautiful in the world."

She said something I didn't understand, then,
"like dolls?"

I shouldn't have said anything . . . I just don't want you to get too attached or to think that I'm your boyfriend.

Ok.

Misspoken broken half-truths and lies;
Classic.
The dump button glows nearby;
ten second delay.
Let 'er rip and kiss it goodbye.

The lifetime spent before it writhing in sheets,
hastily erected schemata with guts knotted up;
misjudged calculations and justifications -
not so easily dumped.

Tripped over admissions and half-felt surprise;
Classic.
The eject button lights up nearby,
hovered over with shaky digits.
Hit it quick and let 'er rip.
No time for goodbyes.

Count the secrets that you keep.
Fingers crossed the roof won't leak.
Took a chance and caught a peak.
Count your blessings and be careful what you seek.
Test the waters.
Talk is cheap.

Stolen dance with mistaken feet.
A lit up button to admit defeat.
Hesitate until it's too late to get away.
Classic.

It's like being writ into some melodramatic hit show,
playing the ******* who just can't commit no matter how far she's willing to go.

Check the thirst pic. I'm only here to give ****.

The epitome of undesirable megalomaniacal hit-it-and-quit-it,
I'm-only-in-it-for-the-**** type ****.

Not interested in a relationship.

When you say things like that, it has no effect.
I can't feel any of that.

We can wine and dine first, if you're a traditionalist.

Just setting the stage for the main event. Give it 'til she gets it so she can tell all her friends: best I've ever had. **** like your poor with demons on your back. After curtain call, skip the bow and exit stage-left.