It’s the way some people take their coffee.
Or blaze dark their font with.
Rather than settle for these everyday bits,
I turned to another German-Italian.
I went up in smoke
Every time he spoke.
I let him breathe stories into me
While I inhaled them
Deep into my barracuda bones.
I in a love jones.

I want my cake.
I want to eat it too.
Whether it involves him, him or you.
I know where my heart resides.
And every now and then
I feel my world crumble.
I’d do anything to come alive.

Even though my fantasies involved lies.
Even though I paid my own taxi ride.
Even though I went against myself.
I couldn’t help the instantaneous
Life without a seat belt.


2 thoughts on “Cake

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