you wouldn't need dreams if i were your girl.

[flyinglesson]

at eleven in the morning you roll me over to tell me i've already missed an hour of dawsons creek, joey's acting ridiculously emotional again, and the coffee you've made is awfully cold. at twelve pm we draw the blinds and watch crazy moon and you burn the popcorn but we eat it anyway. at one forty-five my polka-dot dress is already on and you put the phonograph on louie armstrong while he sings making whoopie with oscar peterson, we dance cheek to cheek and burn our faces with our smiles so big. at two in the afternoon you hold me around the waist as i powder flour on your nose, inbetween throwing ingredients into a mother's famous pineapple bundt cake. at two fifty-seven we take your chevy to the lake and bury our legs in the grass, stretch our arms back, and tell ever so endearing stories under the clouds and into the sun. at three twenty-one we rub our tummies full and feed the sleeping birds the leftover pieces of cake. at four we're already back in the door, into the white sheets, reading stories about old trees that talk, while you make you tone your voices up and down making all of the characters seem to come alive. at four forty-four you lean over to kiss my temple as i quiver towards your lips, and my knees begin to shake, shake, shake. at five thirty-seven my head is nestled in your chest while you whisper lyrics of the magnetic fields and we both close our eyes to wake up at seven fifty-nine to walk you to the door. at eight oh one you smile to me and say "goodnight kitten, sleep tight, sleep tight, sleep tight" as you drift into the dusty night and at twelve oh seven i wake up from the most delicate dream of you.

i did get the job at starbucks today! oh lord do i ever just want to delete this journal or at least cut my friends list because i know half of you don't even read this junk.