To be in a clueless hurry I scurry to the amigos,
Where my heart belongs as they eat burritos.
Stolen are we to bury our nose,
In what seems to be a natural pose;
Catching his gaze he speaks of the glow,
Oh how I freely flow.
We laugh we philosophize,
Ron's darkness makes my heart drop as do the butterflies.
To keep composure and store away feelings of danger,
We meet and stand as though we are strangers.
The cold AC takes me back to the smell of astrology,
where I sit with the others and burn my apology.