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In her father's Lincoln Continental, we planned wedding vows and pulled off a flask. She says, "My dear, I'll alleviate." She wants mirrored ceilings and their finest wine. We got the room just fine, but we got Early Times. Say that we are simply co-existing. Say this isn't what you've always wanted. My darling, manicures are grating Teflon. We relate to suffice. We got more sights to see. You know the figures won't lie. So start a viral routine. She's got a masculine relapse so get paternal arms. She's just nineteen but with a sailor's mouth… only when carnal verses become obvious. It's a commonplace down by the Venetian for a bride to put down her ring on a hand. Say that your liver isn't that excited. Say this isn't what you've always wanted. It's flesh and flesh on flesh; we are but fiction. Like the surveys say: We've got bloodstreams to mingle. It's like an open marriage revised. We've got options so it's clear that options are the spoils of the trade. We can't survive as the few who deem pheromones more than capsules. She's got a masculine relapse so stage all it's worth. C'mon, the season ends and let's get desperate. Just as long as we all stay intact, stay entwined. |
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