Monday, March 23, 2009


I like you better
with the lights off
in the backseat
on a dark street
by the beach.

I like to picture
in my head
what I’d prefer
you to look like
as you’re giving it.

I’d like to not
feel the dread of
knowing that
I’m a hypocrite,
like the ones
I can’t have.

I wish I could
transplant your brain
into the body
of fantasy.
I wish this
didn’t matter
that much to me.

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