2:22 am what a coincidence i thank god and pyotr ilyich tchaikovsky for creating swan lake. by now i can hear you scoffing at me for being fake pretentious but this time i'm not.
when you wear chiffon on fridays with a decaying wildflower straight outta your backyard sitting over your left ear and i have mine on the right. you instigate me and i am suddenly hit by this eclectic mix of divinity in the sultry air. you can see me staggering. i transform into a crescendo of sophisticated urgency to feel your skin and iron your socks. breathe in deeply. too much beauty and how i long to convert you into the most majestic metaphor of sorts but you're metaphysical. you don't make me feel alive. i've been alive before but you help in sanctification. you are very human but unattainable. if i can barely touch you how the fuck am i supposed to write about us making love while the static radio is playing and you are covered in honey dipped rose petals and your blanket has this peachy fuzz around the seams i can't function anymore. let me breathe you. these neon lights are blinding me and they are doing a shit job representing this blasé city.
oh and the moonlight has cast a silvery ray lighting up your eyes. this is extremely picturesque, can i kiss you? ok cool.
