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I’ve painted this picture of you in my mind.
I’d show it to you if you had the time.
The canvas was stained with the way your lips tasted.
I’ve done everything I could to paint over it,
but my imagination runs wild and it always ends back to your figure,
and the way your eyes looked in the moonlight.
I got it framed.
The edges were burned with the way your breath felt on my neck,
I had to cover it.
So I painted.
And the oils dripped down the canvas in perfect symmetry with the way your hands traced my spine
down the small of my back.
So I painted this picture of you.
This is my last night in my room of my own house before I’m a couch surfer. I guess that’s why I can’t sleep. I still have three weeks left on the island, but this is my last night in my failed attempt to be happy and start a life here.
i want to talk to you but i don’t want to be annoying do you see my problem
Find someone who will tremble for your touch, someone whose fingers are a poem.
Depends what’s in your collection of vinyls!
Rock, Paper, Flipper?
Pedicab Garage, 4th & Attayac, Austin Texas July 13 2014