e p i l o g u e

Smoke billows from steel chimneys and stolen O-faced lips as I try to validate myself alongside your bare necessities

The slang of the times coincides not with language, but once more - with feeling!

Seven seasons and six leading ladies gone so that I know summer's really over / and I've called you 'the one' more times than I've read it in TV Guide descriptions late-night reruns of all the Friends you have at 3 AM
Who
Aren't

me.

(What are we?)

I don't want to be existential but I'm existing and here is you here is me and here is everyone else, we are uncomfortably permanent as a 20-year stint in a cell made from changing leaves and whitened teeth

(P.S. I want to bash your disproportionate ******* head in)

Sloppy Joe's on my brain as I use the sticky fingers of my undying affection to wipe off the traces that She Left On You - and I open all the windows but the breeze is just perfume

("I don't understand makeup", you say as I paint over eight midnight love-***** or I guess you could call them hickies)

Let us talk about! Numbers, locations, dates and Age -
Or the S of your body with elbows against the wall
The nowhere of the place I wanna be
That one time? With that one thing???
(You're just a minor and I can't do this)


My sob story is
Written in blushing haikus
Like tea in Japan