i spent the day with him.
i listened to him
talk about drugs for hours,
then let him **** me
till it hurt
to look at him.
i'm not in love,
i just lust for him
in a tired, quiet way.

we were on his porch
when i snuck away
for just a few minutes to
call you and say
to your voice mail:
"the sky's on fire.
it's orange, red and pink.
it's really something you should see."

and it's back to him
and his nicotine lips.
he's an old soul
he's a free spirit
he's creative and
he's slept with everyone i know.

i wish you were here.