I've recently readjusted my grip on the love handles of reality as I stroll past post-modern piety. When life gets spicy I clutch her booty in public with abundant PSAs and PDA at Banana Republic. Any baggage she's claiming is largely out of her budget, but I look her dead in the eye and say...
"Double it."
My affection for wisdom hardly gets reluctant when smells are pungent, because I really do love it. I wake up to the heat of tragedy before she's brushed her teeth, and kiss her in the mouth until I can put my finger on what's underneath... then it's back to sleep.
I tell anyone who's disinterested in extra pulp, non -fiction to imagine these words coming from someone they're missing... the one that got away, the one that wouldn't give you the time of day... and fantasize about what it would be like for them to say...
"You're absolutely incredible."
I find that's the only way I can make things digestible.
I told God that I was the best lover in the world before I met Mariah, and I wonder if she would join him in calling me a liar. Probably, but can I get much higher? It's a question I ask in Tony Stark sobriety... how much can you care past the novelty, the notoriety, and the physical body of a person without asking for something? Answer quick, because times running...
I wish I could feed the masses but I often cater to the best... no rests, only bass clefs and taste tests with special guests. Only the future is impressed by what's next, so it seems I've overstayed my welcome. I've built my world around sparknotes, and this is my anthem.