His kisses taste like Constant Good Decisions
poured not-so-perfectly
and head abounds like Prom Night
His arms shorter than I usually care to dig into
but he holds me like Ms. Lisa holds her smile
"coast to coast like butter on toast"
His smile is the result of our obscenities
interlaced with subliminal quotation marks
reminding the world of how funny Bobcat used to be
And my heart belongs to this perfect gentleman,
but sadly, he needs it not.
Comments
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I wish my kisses tasted like good decisions instead of grain alcohol and beef jerky.
fyi: I have a goldthwait poster somewhwere in my closet begging to be put back up.
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Hah, actually, Constant Good Decisions means Sam Adams here. So yea, you're actually right up my alley
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nice!
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