to every every storm is once again.
Fuck yourself is all I can manage.
I may choose other words,
and you should tell me the same,
but don’t you tell me you love me.
Why rush to implications.
Why cheapen the moment
with a saving grace to what’s
I need to feel appreciated.
My force must be recognised,
It must be real.
You know Arnold Palmer’s pink tea?
He drinks a glass of himself on every can.