We roam the aisles of over crowded supermarkets.
A natural right turn right,
I call it muscle memory.
But really, its the long way to the bread and milk.
Its the chance to let you speak freely as I try not to get mad at the lady walking slowly in front of us.
Its me listening to you
And you listening to me 'mhhmm' 'ahhhh' and 'mhmmm' again.
I have been tempted to peel oranges for your for a while now.
Amongst other things.
But you'd rather they're cut into four.
I am bad at math but this you already know.
Good with my hands but I have always been a little poor.
Giving people what they need and never what they want
And sometimes even a little more.
Its comical really.
Satire peering its head.
Its funny how....
I am not going to do that, lets just go to bed.
I wake, in a wake.
Mourning the morning.
Moaning and groaning.
My bones hurt but so does my heart.
You wake, in a wake.
Mourning the morning.
Moaning and groaning.
Your joints hurt but so does your heart
All I can do is offer you extended burnt hands.
Holier than thou
I can never hold anything
And so most things fall through.
Every turn met with an adjournment
Street sweeping signs and parallel timelines.
I have crossed many streets with you
but never any lines.
What are we doing?
We're doing exactly what my heart
finally wants.
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