I called it in the air

I called it in the air, but
it was just

a guess. There's no way

of really knowing. Who you
would be-and who
I would turn

into, you into me and the
same as usual.

At the cost of living, and
the simple actions

of our, post-literate-pre-
sympathetic-to-antiquated-symbols-of-
thought, mouths.

And the nouns they spit.

Or you just say whatever
you want. Because

your cute, and you've seen
Cold Play when they
and you

were in Paris.

And who am I
to judge
you.

I probable do wear my David Bowie
t-shirt to much. But

that doesn't mean we'll
still be friends.

What is free love?