let me be the one who will hold your wrists & write this poetry scrawl. carve my thoughts in your skin. again. & you're like teaching an ox ballet on my carpet coated stairway--tread lightly, and keep your eyes open and your mind closed for once--but you have this elegant sort of etiquette. i think you're gentle & i think you're passionate & i just know you'll be hungry, starved like an artist on the streets. i hate when college kids try so hard to sound so eloquent, so intelligent.
charming.
but i like you, because you never did need to try.
filthy darwinist.
