There are times
for singing and
dancing close
up to a body.
Sweat stained
and incompetent
thought brought
by music.
There's other times,
well, the other times,
to stare out the window
and contemplate the
wherever
and the why.
But now? I (we), the parenthetical we:
We're just going to bed.
The only thing weird, weird to
me, is just not hanging out with
you. I know it was quick, and not
a lot, but. Well, but.
I loved it.
I'd just like some more.
