We are a couple of
starving artists...

I dreamt I had a
beautiful...

I want your voice in whispered timbres murmuring
the melodies of speech...

I've got
some kind of power inside me...

DISCLAIMER: This is my response to T.S. Eliot's...
they don't know the first thing about you...

To be able to grasp
with such certainty...

Lethargy lays down on top of my face
and presses my eyelids together...

Holding my hand in the
parking lot...

Tease me tease me with
gloss and matte...

I wrote about him on scraps of yellow wrapping...
with the only pen I could find...

Cover me in dirt, baby
and I'll be your nightmare...

I remember you
blonde...