I went to see an interior designer.

Turns out we weren't talking about the same thing

At all.

Isn't it odd
That a man named Jobs,
Created so many.

So **** when you're naked,
Too hot when you dress up,

Flirtatious on a Friday night,
You stop to ask wassup.

Taunt me, tempt me, tease me,
Retake me with your smile.

Sleepy eyes and sunrise sighs,
A lust so versatile.

How long do I wait for myself to arrive.

I feel as if
Maybe,

I dropped in years ago,
And no one was at home.

Did I miss my calling?

Did you?

We have only one terror,
An early companion,
Our fear of death,
Is our eternal canyon.

One slip or stumble
And life is over,
Even the careful
Get handed over.

Immortality perhaps,
Is found only in fame,
Heroes live for ever,
The rest of us abstain.

She wrote me an old fashioned letter,
Ball point pen on snowflake stationary.

Found my soft spot as usual, uncovered a tear,
She was always **** good at that.

There's personality in the way people write,
The individual shape of the letters, the slant, the size.

And like a thumbprint, your style is unique to you,
Handwritten like homemade brings things to life.

Oceans of love was my grandmother's signature phrase

We are transforming into machines, robots,
Things that never feel at all, never really laugh or cry.

Are you as numb as I am,
Watch people die right before my eyes,
Then switch to cats chasing clicks.

How come
Watching you get dressed,
The shake, shake shimmy
Of slipping things on,

Is more arousing
Than the tease.

Do I lust more
For the things
I cannot have.