i have these four paper lanterns which glow in the corners of my room. well, two are lit (two don't technically belong to me) and by saying they are "lit" i'm actually disguising the little glow and buzz of a tiny bulb, which is powered by acid and chemistry of some sort, into something romantic in notion. we feel each other up like a couple of teenagers enjoying a blank slate, and we've ignored our friends for at least two weeks. you kiss my neck and we fuck like we want to be in love but we aren't and that's the beauty. this way no one else can make a mess of this because this something we have have is nothing at all. i have four cigarettes left but its raining out and my windows face east in such a way that the rain still creeps in with a tap tap tap against the open window's screen. so we bite lips and high five between rounds of guitar hero, you explain the origins of blue eyed brunettes, and we share information on the geography of cool spots beneath the sheets; your body burns like a thrift store space heater. i repeat small words while writing to add emphasis, perhaps i repeat mistakes as well.... as if to add emphasis (you are not one of them).
