How sad is it that what I'm looking forward to most
possibly in the next six months
is drinking half a bottle of nyqul and passing out in a pool of watery snot and syrupy drool before 10:00.
The life of a wheezing, sneezing prince.
I hear there's some direct correlation between health, wealth and happiness with your-
what do the french call it?
...
well I call it my will to live.
I once watched a video about how you can get what you want simply by squeezing your eyes shut, and wishing wishing wishing til you get it.
Here's my list.
three 65 mustangs
1 candy-gloss cherry red
1 solid piano black with black tinted windows
1 german blue with 2 cream-white racing stripes
a beautiful girl, the element of fire, skin the color of clay, hair the color of copper, the kind you meet at the beginning of the world, or the end of time. Just a touch more hips and ass than tits.
a book serial deal
every day long lazy and relaxed. Hammocks over the sand. Crystal waters murmuring me to sleep.
Coconut and champagne through straws.
Weird cocktail I know, but it sounds pretty good to me.
It'd be even better off the curve of that muscle just next to her belly button.
Cinnamon and nutmeg off just the edge of her thighs.
Okay
maybe the list can be amended.
Truncated.
Carved down. Bareboned.
I want her on a bed of lily petals and honey over her soft spots.
Something I can rhapsodize on paper lyrical with the tip of my pen,
and meticulously clean and tickle with the tip of my tongue.
Firm ecstasy and soft acceptance.
Melting that last need of the outside world.
Let's hit a diner.
Eat some sausage and bacon, coffee thicker than gravel
and pretend this all isn't just locked safely behind shut eyes.
You can tell me about your family.
I'll wax poetic about the gravy.