Do not mark me lost love.
Do not hang me from your bedpost.
This muddied beginning was born in lonley and died on the very tip of your thick, stagnant tongue.
Did I go wrong in thinking that our hearts could breathe outside of medias?
No meet cute.
No first date.
No first kiss.
Remember me fondly in the glass case of your palm. In the tenderness I struggled to pull from your center like a magician does a napkin from his sleeve.
We will always have 9:00 PM and honestly and hazard.
Do nor mark me lost, love.
I can still hit SEND.