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Two tempers into the space of a train left willing and able to sit – becoming the blondish round that your hands hold dear. I am kinks without regret, but still hide my eyes when you look at me. This is nobody’s business but our own. The bear in honey-fur and Christmas lights lands lightly on the bed and promotes massage to make it less solid. I can’t be beaten, but have eaten plenty of the shards of your worry. You do well when you play like you’re not getting paid, exactly. The highway to my good place has all but gone out to California. Those friends as useful as trucks on the first of the month. Riding high above the noon sky with a man who hires his tropes like rope. Either side now, but look straight. You always get so heated up here. You come into my life and give me a blue river, a better you to you.
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