And today?
She asked innocently..
(Will today be today)
Wine?
1 liter of wine. Hipster girl.
Cheap and big as possible for inner-world-war 3 to begin tipsily.
She communicated the fuel that was to excuse a spreading fire of temporary loving tangled legs in overslept sheets trying to stretch the hours to be tired to be remixing the moments like a hasty DJ that was accidentally added as a pizza top to bite our tongues while we producing emotional digestive liquids to perhaps Joie de Vivre fast enough to forget but not regret.
I took a long shower after our WWF ring fight.
Recovering from unknown intimacy that was trafficking my blood vessels to another place.
When I came back she was air, without its oxygen percentage.
I took a big breath, what’s that?
She sends a message, ah, di da.
Whispering desires, ashamed to urge a hug, warmth at last before it’s gone from previous cuddles to remind baby’s rights to cry for mama when breastfeeding sprints are running out.
Can I come back?
Sure, why not?
She was scooped back in the sheets of extended dreams.
Next morning, last chance to vibrate a fading moment.
Love, last chance to make love.
We did it, never again.
