Is it too much to ask that we
just lay around with our
cigarettes and coffee and jazz
and just enjoy each other?
Why do we strive for perfection—
when it would only neglect
the intricacies of this gritty,
raw, ****** existence?
Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 5:51 AM UTC
Is it too much to ask that we
just lay around with our
cigarettes and coffee and jazz
and just enjoy each other?
Why do we strive for perfection—
when it would only neglect
the intricacies of this gritty,
raw, ****** existence?
This poem was written in 2020.
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