If I could, I’d write a poem for every single woman I see, Whose skirts and dresses blew in the wind. Against their knees and thighs and calves, Because that’s all I want to write poetry about
Summer came like cinnamon, keeps the wolves from my door
"This girl is at once all the women that broke my heart. She is so beautiful and generous and she is asking me to leave because she is dumping me. She is dumping me because I am a cheap drug dealer. And I am a drug dealer because she wants to leave me"
