It’s red wine nights or an absence of fully blossomed beatitude.
It’s frequent pondering of one day realities and making them come true, me and you.
I promise to sort through the kinks in my life,
projecting nothing nothin short of lovely feelings into your irreproachable, far-reaching, magnificent
They say only make love to one’s wife,
Yet in my opinion, there is much more to living out life and love than sexual exclusivity.
In fact, it is about the heart and heart only.
And, if yours doesn’t race like an iambic amphetamine suburban teenagers once did,
I don’t want you around forever.
To me, and maybe to a few others, monogamy is as limiting as the promises of a beautiful sunrise during my suicidal nineteenth year, during which I was way worse off more frequently than I ever admitted.
Because it is all too filled with ever so broken, yet not entirely impossible, promises.
At this point, I’d like to confess, that I will always be a mess.
But, I’m fine with them– my crooked dreams
and curiously juxtaposed halo-rings
surrounding imaginary supermassive star solar flares
Oh, how our bodies will vibrate harmoniously with laud and vivacity.
Moreover, if you don’t want candle lit lotion massages
And bubble baths after we fuck on the kitchen table,
just tell me.
I can easily run away to another lass with a fat ass in the meadow of blazing hearts that is the land of sweet, sweet love.
Quite frankly, she will be just as wonderful as you in some ways.
But in some respects, you will still be missed.