i'm not beatnik poet but i see the connection. there is nothing in me that is in you, but i see the connection.
this shelf life won't depreciate us, i apriciate you, you are beautiful, and wonderful, and these are stock words, generic words, but they are my words, oh, i wrote this for you. we are white wine in your basement. we are anaerobically respirating, and the days tick by, and boy, we are getting better and better. you are getting sweeter as dust collects.
the silence was so thick and sweet i nearly choke, the darkness torn by light for you. pulled out of darkness, morning kiss. before you open your eyes, you've fallen down the rabbit hole.
and there is so much more.
my angry angel is left out, looks at me with puppy dog brown eyes and thinks too hard about me. it is PS101 always, sure, but i'm torn.
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