Death by prose | Sticking your middle finger in its face, you may see the world smile

Yesterday I saw a sign that informed people at the train station that ‘Failure to buy a ticket for a trip will result in prose-cution’ and the only thing I could think of was Prose+execution=prose-cution. Don’t tell me; it’s a random way to emerge from my cocoon.

Here’s my attempt at staying alive:

You say to me

FUCK what the world says about this and that

[excuse your french]

You want to be with me

 

And because of that

[F- to what these and those people

Say about how we should be]

Serenade is a rude word

Talking to another man

-Like that-

Is not kosher

 

But what does the world say?

He’s not that into you

-Does he call you (not?)

-Does he text you (often?)

-Do you love the feel of his lips on yours (so good they are,. So supple?)

 

You’ve got a fast car

But I’m not sure I’ll enjoy the ride

I am of the world

I have not the rectitude your love demands

 

I want-

information

Breath(lessness)

travel partner

Loverfriend

 

I’m as good at silence

As you are at communication

We are good-

We take each other as we are

No newandimproved

Just takeitorleaveit

 

Let’s run off to an island

Where we’ll be together

-Always

No questions, doubts

No worldly expectations

 

I have asked for little

I have not had a surfeit

[how that word sounds like a frothing over]

 

I want more

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