I need to write a book on my summer of love and my life until now. For in a couple of days, life will want my precious time, money, and the attention i  dont have capacity for. i wrote be happy inside o f a green heart on his back while he was sleeping.. after the first night we made love.
 A waiting room, sitting next to a grey haired woman, shes so close i can hear the air move through her weak lungs. know yourself, ultimate wants and needs must reflect reality, if skewed in a tiny way, tolerance is key to the intricate muscles around the lips. here i am, here and now, and im wasting waiting,  im going to make a wall of passages, doors used in many abandoned hearts of homes. a door collector, right here.
a want a beer a day. pbr please.
the way your tongue feels on the end of a battery, felt surging huge through my chest, Ive bottled energy, saved for a time that will never be right for the mind, for the acqaintance made, for the past shame. i can never be as lost as the moments shared on paper, or the strings attached to a frequency we created with the truest of voices.
I start new, closer to a comfort of silence, with someone a little less blue than the rest of us in this book. the music is never loud enough, when theres no one dancing with you.