Her lust would be
Filthy
If it wasn't so
pure

She picked me up
A little surprised

You know i could write
a book about your eyes
I'd rather whisper poems
between your thighs

"Juan Carlos Windycock",
they say to me
"why must you ****
at your own
*****"?

"because they are in the way
of my ****".

HAHAHAHAHA

we were *******
you nodded out

i ****** off
on your
eyelids
closed

your boyfriend
picked you up
the next morning

"the sandman paid
you a visit"!
he
exclaimed
as he helped
you pry
your eyes
open

A million broken pieces
make up who i am
you have the glue
the hard part is
finding the fragments

Deciding if i should
give them to you
hoping the super glue holds
hoping we can find all the pieces

Fighting the fear
that you may shatter them furthur
Fighting the fear
that your glue
may not hold
them together
Fighting the fear
that the sum of
all my broken fragments
may not be something
you would want to keep
Fighting the fear
that even i
won't want to keep
the finished project
we have spent
so much time and effort
putting back together again

Her passion would be
  Filthy
If it weren't
  So pure

THE BARS ARE ALWAYS OPEN
EXCEPT FOR WHEN THEY'RE CLOSED
THE DRUNK TANK SPINS IN CIRCLES
YOUR FREEDOM COMES AND GOES