Nothing says I love you like a crazy sweaty and naked man in your bed.
I speak from years of experience.
Self highfiving the strange man behind the mirror.
Put on the jeans you were wearing when you were booked, the faded ring the absent contraceptive had cut into the inside pocket.
Pat your legs. Rub your eyes.
Find your keys.
Taking off north. No particular reason.
Chocolate. Hazel. Caramel.
Pass.
Pass the old yards, empty burned out lofts and grain elevators.
Over the earth-blood, and the wet smell of green trees and hazey asphalt.
Some bilingual honey selling shaved ice.
Stolen bikes. Sold dreams.
Sore wallets.
Mirror syndrome of more interesting
more human
people.
Silver bullets fell me.
watching black specks on the grain fly off
unmotivated to track them
unwilling to turn back on my stomach.
Dissolving into the floor
with thirty times the gravity
Time sacrificed to flacid stifling days.
Killing me turn by turn.
Not interested in faster
just my terms.