Monday, June 27, 2011

list #2

I wish I was a poet.

We are going to tear up this city
and the Ganges. I am high
on your beautiful mouth.

Where are you from? It sounds
a lot like home.

Your guts are all over the floor.

I just had my first. It was great;
she was in and out.

I'm not just a story.

I'm glad I'm not the only person
who's ever been in love like that.

You were robbed. I feel ambushed.
I've only ever heard you read
love poetry.

Your last one, killing me softly.

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