We would whisper sweet nothings in one anothers ears,
lying delicately on white sheets covering the hardwood,
surrounded by books and pages of verse which we could not understand,
but were on an endevor to find out.

We spoke of death and the dreary,
our tounges rolling with the words of the deceseased, as their words sounded more alive now than ever before.

We sought refuge under the window unit,
the air chilling our bodies that steamed with passion
when we nibbled on refridgerater pizza, smoked harmoniously, sipped generously, and spoke avidly.

We were us, as we should be.
And in that moment,
Nirvana had never seemed so near.

a.r.