Your love is a bloody knee fighting into the ladies room.
Blinking blindly with your open skin,
so wet and cold
but you can't find the right door
and now you're thrown into a corridor of
swampy broken stalls,
filled with greased and
swampy broken solicitors,
and no one,
no one
even has a god damn roll.
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But I can't say that aloud; I can't tell anyone that I have been waiting for this all my life and that being chosen to wait is the reason I can. If I were able I'd say it. Say make me, remake me. You are free to do it and I am free to let you because look, look. Look where your hands are. Now.
