When romance becomes rare
not much love in the air...
Sliding, slithering, shooting down on a
pumped up...
I hate Google maps
I love to discover...
You people look at me and scoff
I've sat here till my arms fell off...
It was pouring that morning
When a curious thought arose...
It starts at evening, the silent weave of scent
billowing through the door, seeping in the carpet...
She comes every other month
Maybe every two if I play my cards right...
He
died with...
We will live together in a shitty little home,
But it will be our home...
Will always seem to
miss the mountains except when...
I'm trying to cure my writers block,
I really need to pull up my socks...
I adore
your mustache...