Near Miss

One hand will wash the other. I almost went skating. But instead I went out with a client.

I had a caipirinha, which was like when proust ate that cookie. I went back to when JK was dying and I was logisticating school buses and being a general peice of shit; eventually regretting and hating my time there, and abandoning everything and everyone I cared about in America, except for Lzyk.

Don't worry, I still keep in touch. With a handful of them.

Caipirinha is a beautiful and horrible thing to drink.

Edit: back.

You're so sweet
Your smile
Your pussy and your bones
You're on fire
You move me like music
With your style

Let me think (about what?)
About girls (and what else?)
And money
And new clothes (and what do I do?)
Thirty nights of violence (uh-huh?)
And sugar to love

Closer to the lung so
Shove her over railing

You're sweet, but I'm tired
Of proving this love
You're a bore
But you move me
Like a movie
That you are

Let me think (think about what?)
About girls (and what else)
And money and new clothes (and what do it get?) 
Thirty nights (uhh-huh) of violence (yeah)
And sugar to love

Closer to the lung so
(I can, I can) shove her over railing

You think…