i hate papers. i hate papers. oh, goodness. but whateva.
weekend [outer space flow].
monday through thursday you are
off-limits, outer limits
and monday through thursday i often
pass right by you like a shooting star
out of grasp, out of space
your eyes are wide as a full moon as
you watch my hips roll by like a tide
lapping up against the shore
but on the weekend something
shifts
maybe the planets align or
some stars are doing some weird shit
but we are always orbiting around each other
waiting expectantly for our paths to
collide
create a beautiful disaster
an explosion in between my knees
that we’ll have to clean up monday morning
before the others wake with the sun to find
the crater that our anxious chemistry
created
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