i can not wright anymore, the words,
they have left me.
i see them collecting just outside the tongue,
trading card like jokes
to be used when its their turn to play.
your kisses do
this to me. for a time-for its
when you smile-you leave out the punch line.
like your saving it for something,
for something that won't cut you.
for something worth more then
more then an itch,
more then christmas in july.
you give something else instead.
something below your neck, below your
freckled skin, and
between the words you used, when we talked
about, how drummers are assholes.
but i won't judge you when you wear hats,
because you think it hides your thoughts
and takes away the feelings secretly
shown in yours eyes,
and keeps the sun out of you.
but before you go i would like to tell you
that i think your funny,
and wouldn't mind it if you stayed awhile;
we could eat some cereal and talk
more about your hat problem.