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a small amount of potential that day when i first met you i thought
the light had gone out
and i was in one of my delusional fantasies
and i'm not pretty
and i'm not good
i can't speak about it anymore
until it's over
(it will never end)
you're pretty and
you're good
you make me wish i could talk forever in the
streets at midnight
but you're not here and you're not awake and
you're not mine
I'm lucky I know such great writers. It's like, you know. Aristotle learning from Plato. Or however that went. You know. From one master, to the other. And hey, who says Plato didn't learn a thing or two from Aristotle? It's like.. symbiosis. You being a rhinosceros, me the finnicky bird that eats lice off of your hairy backside. I think you get the analogy.
In the words of many old, terrible poets -- "A great write."
ah. perfection at its finest.