Come put your lips
near my lips.
We don't need the
Candy-Sweet-Candlelight, the
Special-Slinky-Things, the
Smooth Hum of Midnight Jazz.
**** it.
We'll make-out to the sound
of a blender or a lawnmower,
Or a pack of feral cats.
Wearing what
we wore to work
And smelling of nothing more than mediocrity.
Just come put your lips near my lips.
It will be perfect.