Because a certain somebody won’t let me sleep until I write something.
About the river. About the ghosts. About the pitter and the patter of the rain like the footsteps of fairies. I’ll fall asleep in your car you fall asleep in my arms. I’ve never been this buzzed before, (even laying by the lake) the way I love your lips and my arm slung around your hips, musically the poetry you’re kissing this and that of me and GOOD GOD the way the fresh air fills my lungs like cigarette smoke (This addiction to the universe) and your hair smells like the morning.
Now it's bedtime and I'll stay up longer looking up at the ceiling with thoughts.
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