I've never been a talker
The words stay inside
I'm a writer, and this is the
only way they come out

even if it's only alright
just okay

She sat at the maple table, eyes glimmering
beneath her glasses
I wanted her, she wanted me
the flesh, the bones, the spit, and all that follows

She was telling funny stories, paused
and flashed her teeth

"Do you have any funny stories?"

no. I don't think life's funny.

And there's another one, out the door
Now Vivaldi is back on
Sweeping me to tranquility
and everything is alright
All Okay