Muffled moaning
Rhythmic, robotic
Bleeding through walls
Is that what I sound like?
It doesn't sound fun
It sounds quite boring
Repetitive squeaks
In 3/4 time
I'd use rubato
I'd be espressivo
No etudes for me
Just ad libitum
But for now I lay
Sexiled to the couch
Wishing I had someone
To make music with

Monosyllables to polysyllabic concerns:
A pittance for pity resenting the night
All is well, or not.
I am the same, though less than gratified;
I am your sexlessness and wandering bestfriend
Faithfully attent to the lovers’ fight
Between the hopes longer than a day,
And the stilted, crude truth
All wonderfully thumping behind plaster and stone
In that I can make my predictions,
Perhaps because I’m a part of that love
I’ve heard it before and watched it float off into space
A repeat has no better outcome,
But we’ll always be wondering their fissures
And openness, when I abandoned care too late;
Where was apathy when I needed it most?

It’s three am.
Or actually 2:58, right exactly now.
Sitting in bed with my cup of mac and cheese
I made in the microwave
and woke up my roommate,
because if I’m getting sexiled until 2 anyhow,
I’ll make some ******* mac and cheese.
Blowing on my plastic fork
listening to Bon Iver sing about his skinny love.

That’s something that’s been concerning me lately,
Skinny love.
But I’m eating anyway.
Because rolling on the black top of the playground
(dark and secret, with just enough irony)
with a newly blue-eyed boy
made me hungry.