“How have I ever scored with a chick
much less had a beautiful girl fall in love with me?”
as I watch
dance to the music
like horses flying
or new born baby birds singing.
She walks up smiling,
“do you want to dance?”
“I’d like to but you’re so beautiful
if I started dancing with you
I’d breakdown and cry.
No one wants to see that.”
“Ok.” She dances away laughing
not because I am funny
but because she loves me
and not in a way where she wants to fuck me
but in a way where she feels lucky to know me
because she knows I know her soul.
And ten years down the road in a shopping line
she’ll remember how I’d
pick up the tabloid magazines
and make a big deal out of the stories
as if I cared about anything other than her.
And she’ll smile
like a school bus full of dead children
on the way to heaven.
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