sand in my face
i wind up feeling like my road to the beach, the perfect surf setting, is an earned one.
wandering into a new town, expecting a spot in the line up, is a foolish one.
at least having a job in said own would give me parcel.
one to back me up
lend legitimacy for an argument of placement.
at least a little.
wander around, owning wings, a stick, and 45% of a fuck to give away.
the rest, moment being, is tentative.
but hey, its never been like that before?
a thought, motion to wrap around someone.
knowing permission, and obligation would get the better of me.
even thinking ownership, in its simple ideals, would have any sort of tithe on me,
i like you, i just get scared.
and im a mover.
the ocean is my end goal.
down?
wandering into a new town, expecting a spot in the line up, is a foolish one.
at least having a job in said own would give me parcel.
one to back me up
lend legitimacy for an argument of placement.
at least a little.
wander around, owning wings, a stick, and 45% of a fuck to give away.
the rest, moment being, is tentative.
but hey, its never been like that before?
a thought, motion to wrap around someone.
knowing permission, and obligation would get the better of me.
even thinking ownership, in its simple ideals, would have any sort of tithe on me,
i like you, i just get scared.
and im a mover.
the ocean is my end goal.
down?