love in the time of nutella

i want to walk down the street singing the songs we make up together.
i want a metaphysical collaboration consisting of teeth and breath, of breasts and scents.
concrete ephemeral drive-bys and expensive high heel shoes that make my ankles look pretty.
i want to talk to your mouth.
i want to see inside your beautiful native eyes.
every morning i wake to the sound of a breaking heart.

all the birds in new york city can't lift this.

one day i will join you in the painting above the fireplace.   

Come to think of it.

You done fucked me up.