you're so LA and I'm moving to New York next year,
but I've been told I'm so Los Angeles too.
the whole thing about opposites attracting,
is it applicable here?
because I want to make out with you, and hell,
I've never felt like this before.
I'd drive cross country to feel your facial hair on my neck.
I'm so fucking bored without you driving me around aimlessly
under pinkish purplish perfect skies
in a city that neither of us really belong in at all.
your hair is not easy for me to run my hands through and it's frustrating sometimes,
but it smells like chocolate and you small like daydreams because you are one.
we wear all black and our breath is minty
from all the fucking Marlboros that I swore I'd never lay a hand on
but that you made feel so right.
fuck you.
turn me on at thrift stores, turn me on by kissing my neck
our first kiss was after discussing Stephen King
an omen of sorts.
his stories never end well,
and we could say no different.
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