If You Would


Would you care to come and sit next to me?


Because we could be old school, wearing shirts with cuff sleeves

on which our hearts would be the cufflinks.

And we could romanticize the color of death on leaves,

you could hold my hand, and we could fall in love with mortality.


We could be romantics, dancing to indie music blaring from your car

with the headlights bathing us in midnight sunshine.

And we could laugh ourselves silly trying to roll the perfect cigar;

I could let you keep the lighter, and I would save the ashes as memoirs.


We could be hardcore, flushing down the toilet vomit and rose-petals,

ruining reflections with streaks of terrorizing agony.

We could finally let our abandoned passions scream into the lull;

you could be broke, I could be broken, and we could be the earthly celestial.


We could sit on the wall next to the airport, and watch flights and landings all day


we could fall in love.


So tell me, would you care?



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