Call me Oedipus and let me call you mommy,
**** me hard and kiss me lively.

Act like Freud and dream about my ****,
spread your legs and let me have a lick.

Kiss me like Hemingway, short and sweet,
like the sun and the horizon, eternally we shall meet.

We watched a movie today.
It was lovely, full of pastels and romance.
The plot was immense, the casting, superb.

I enjoyed the movie a great amount.
My favorite part was the part I missed because I buried my face into your neck.
I didn't want to leave.

It was one of those days
when the sun was like,
"I'm gonna be real hot today....extra hot"

I saw some birds fly underneath a truck.
by their banter,
I could tell they were excited;
"Ah dude, this shade's sick"
"Yeah dude. This shade's tweet"
And it's crazy cause those
blaring days sometimes turned
into vicious attacks by fanatical
rains. They always wanted my face.
The drowning plants under my
Econoline shoes place their infants
on my laces. I'm afraid to open the door
because of the black widow near the
doorbell.

I once broke one.

Seventeen
what a terrible age to be
when you were skipping in between nineteen and twen-ty

Soul mate status
you became,
tattered charm
barely onto second names

But you spoke and it grasped me
something strong
too lovelorn and lame
we went on-

Romanticising the grainy photographs
the first date talk
the promise of touch
from a distant walk

Compliments thrown around like
greetings
and it terrified me
all those would-be meetings

That rush that turned out
too intense
and the explosive goodbyes
to false pretence

But there were no real goodbyes
you just left my town
so that was the high
and this,
the comedown

It was autumn,
or at least I think it was.
The leaves were changing color
as were you.
It's funny, the way memories linger,
associate and disassociate with senses.
Smells;
the wild flowers.
Colors;
the deep reds of a changing season.
Sounds;
the crunching of dry leaves.
Touch;
your hands.

It may have been autumn,
or at least I think it was,
but I'll always remember you as the Autumn Girl.
Not my autumn girl,
I was merely a vessel
while you were a lamp to be lit.
I was in the dark
while you crossing great expenses of water.

That pond was so small
and you were so magnificently
immense.

Ethereal minstrel! pilgrim of the sky!
Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound?
Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye
Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground?
Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will,
Those quivering wings composed, that music still!

Leave to the nightingale her shady wood;
A privacy of glorious light is thine;
Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood
Of harmony, with instinct more divine;
Type of the wise who soar, but never roam;
True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home!

For he's a jolly good fellow,

adorned in yellow and love,
it was hard to see his face through the smoke of a three blunt rotation, but I could feel his heart beating from across the trailer.

Worn out eighties music was the unofficial theme of the night and I think we lived up to the expectations Eddie Murphy set for his.