pinstripe suit

Chicken noodle soup with rice. You in your pinstripe suit made me have to do the once-over twice. Sharpening pencils with my canines. Then, you recline and watch me write your life against bricks. Everything gets illuminated in the streetlight's dim glow. Blow me a kiss from across this continent. I will be content to stay up way too late, sitting on top of a roof, hoping to catch it (your kiss, that is)- if not with my lips, than with a baseball mitt. I always forget my secret in the moment and it's too hard to tell you afterwards- I've never been good at working certain, specific words into conversations. Genetic mutations. Gas and/or petrol stations. Masturbating. Online dating. PG-13 ratings. Skating. Living in New York City turns me into a human doing- Tucson, AZ reminds me that I am truly a human being. I am, therefore I am. Green eggs and ham. Internet spam messages in your inbox, telling you that it's selling you something to enlarge a penis you do not have. Intentionally losing the path. Hot showers after warm baths. Your laugh is priceless. Being bought or sold. Out with the new, in with the old. Soul feels cold. Soles to shoes are full of holes. The way your moles form constellations; the way I connect the dots with an imaginary pen. We do not wish to win. I just want to "play nice". Chicken noodle soup with rice. Red wine over ice.