From CA to GA, aka MA to FL....Ayy baybay!

We slink now, like we used to fuck, under the radar.

Blip. Blips, prancing. Parlaying past distrusts into platitudes.

MARY's TALL bliss punctuated by a staccato pulse of endings. Pearing nicely with the fact that you can pick an orange in January the Citrus states level the branches and as they sink with weight. I wait.

People say I'm crazy I got limes in the bowls of my booze.

My memory sways like the pendulous breasts of fantasy. My cup size changes but I seem to always have my fill. Like a drunk trying to impress his friends on Guitar Hero, I always seem to find a happy Medium.

Not a little feat, small hands and pristine blue eyes are rolled into a precocious post natal canolli. Faces pressed like my past metaphor to nursery glass; coping with the fact that the future connotes a collective "We" rather than the presupposed "Me".

Granted, we in the past were as cohesive as, say, a popcorn ceiling and a bouncy mattress. But in retrospect butting heads creates a coat of arms for the clash. Alas, if only a patch, at least it bears the scars. Besides, bearing them proudly beats producing a weak bandage. Squirming in fits she'll force your tourniquet's twist. Heaving your emotion like the sun's rays concentrating through a magnifying glass; to live for a little one's dependence belies the notion that living for oneself is what life is all about.

I hope someday, you'll cry uncle to yourself,think of me, smile, and remember 18.