I'm not in love with you,
and I won't be going through your garbage
to build an altar out of your breakfast waffle boxes,
but something about the youthful set of your eyes
in your ageing face
makes me think you're dirty,
and I like that.
we should have lunch together
and make fun of passers-by
and make out in the shade in a public park
and tell our dirtiest secrets to each other
so that we have to rent a hotel room
and leave a mess that will make the maids blush.
Let's make a love story too illegal
to tell our children about.
I could say your name with the rhythm of a train
all day long.
I've probably said too much now.
Shhh, baby, shhh.