the rain is making a wading pool on my roof.
i am going to swim in it tonight to you, me, a bright young sweet ruffian dying to sleep on the wing of a star, or rather, in your arms.
i saw that face, under the rim of a hit, unlit cigarette bouncing in your perfect lips, head filled with numbers and dreams.
there are nasty nights, filled with hatred, when you grab my full shoulders and throw tears at my breathe. but what is love without some hatred?
i don't write anymore. i don't write anymore.
i want your telescope back so i can see the sky.
you could see me, a bright young sweet ruffian in hot pants on a New York City stoop with one fucked up desire to get a PhD in anthropology from an Ivy school.
kiss me. again.
now.
i am going to swim in it tonight to you, me, a bright young sweet ruffian dying to sleep on the wing of a star, or rather, in your arms.
i saw that face, under the rim of a hit, unlit cigarette bouncing in your perfect lips, head filled with numbers and dreams.
there are nasty nights, filled with hatred, when you grab my full shoulders and throw tears at my breathe. but what is love without some hatred?
i don't write anymore. i don't write anymore.
i want your telescope back so i can see the sky.
you could see me, a bright young sweet ruffian in hot pants on a New York City stoop with one fucked up desire to get a PhD in anthropology from an Ivy school.
kiss me. again.
now.
