dear friend, i have your letter dated "at sea." You are wrong this time.
fisting the back of your shirt in a fuzzy sort of false selective reality. so dear to me, your mcdonalds late night menu cuts into my sensitive stomach and strict starvation diet. the lights will sing buzzing to us, because they've got nothing better to do this time of night. i've never been so obvlious to my surroundings i am, while you've never been less clear, you've never been more forward and aggressive. i've never seen you more expressive. this is just another failed expression, a misrepresentation. all the hit-and-misses, but this one moment.. your arms slip out of your sleeves.
the empty baked apple pie boxes crush under your anxious shoes, and you shuffle irresolutely. over to me and my side of the front seat. your eyes closed, your hands are moving over skin but just barely, maybe trying to mentally remember me. but, you don't have to rush, rather just keep that honesty in your touch and i think we can make it. at least for tonight. in the morning we will atone for out sins. but now is not the time.
because i couldn't agree more strongly that we've never been further from the honest answers we seek, slipping out of our jeans. all the best thinkers reached their most pivotal conclusions naked, but really, i don't think that will help us, here.