People still ask me about you as if you were a standard operating procedure.
People still don't get it. People still say; it's better to have loved and lost than to have--
What people don't seem to understand is that I don't dig epilogues, I don't speak with punctuation, I don't end with period. and I don't capitalize.
Because tonight I'll sleep with a pillow softer than your self-consciousness
and even though I don't speak in redundancies, allow me to repeat myself 'cause I know you're not takin' notes 'cause you're the type of person who likes to hang on a moment and own it but do me just one favor in this minute minute, please realize that you've got too many easels and not enough paint and self-expression is moot if the canvas is blank.
Tonight! I'll sleep on my good side
so that tomorrow when people ask me about you as if I have a degree in your ology at least i'll look well-rested when I tell them that I used to cry when i wrote you letters and how I used to write for you and how in my head I STILL paint renaissance paintings of you and how they hang in this cranium like a sixteenth century mausoleum
because genius is driven by affection
and affection knows that we were born with more voices than our mouths could house and so some of them got swallowed.
But genius -- genius knows nothing. Genius knows that we do things with our mouths sometimes, like when we kiss or cough or collaborate.
Thus genius is driven by affection and affection made you my muse.
So please listen to the words of a man who knows where his voice has been;
if you were made of construction paper and a few shades red-er I'd glue love to you l-o-v-e, spelled out in pasta pieces, sprinkled in the glitter of hugs and kisses, I'd hold you lovingly in my hands and give you--