sick muse.

i want to take you for tea.
then take your clothes off.

is that so bad? probably. i think that ship sailed yeeeaaaarrrrrs ago.
but here i am. let's put that record on the player... settle in and count the freckles on our arms and draw triangles on our thighs.

after, we'd play mario kart. if you take wario i swear to god i'll leave you.
i'll make you breakfast in the morning. only if you promise to pretend to sleep as i skirt out of the room, out of the sheets and out of your arms. what would you like, my love?

it's sunday afternoon and the sun is out. it's the middle of june and we walk hand in hand in the only place in the city that's beautiful.

why is everything in life so cyclical? running in circles, feeling in spheres, elliptical orbits around the sun. what would you like, my love?

i want to take you back to my hypothetical apartment. there are large windows covered in sheer white curtains, i have hardwood floors too. the kitchen is simple and modern, cleaner than clean and i'm making milkshakes. i have chocolate, vanilla or peanut butter ice cream. which would you like, my love?

climb into bed with me. i just think i need a bit of your skin. we'll worry about the morality and ethics of this twisted web we weave in the morning.