A true story

Frequently upon various times I find myself falling for a girl. It happens suddenly and without anticipation or awareness. Honestly, a certain something will just snap in my brain and my thoughts will start to kind of subtlety focus on my current infatuation. During these times my bouts of sane action fall to a terrible minimum. I commit embarrassing, head-shaking acts that would make the most transparent romantic blush with shame.
Here’s a poem I drunkenly composed and sent to some young lady whom I thoroughly weirded-out and annoyed. The poem is nonsensical; the event, wholly regrettable; the original line breaks, lost. Treat this as a tale of caution, lust, and reckless poetic abandon, all of which I wallow in too well.


Lying with you hands you
A flyer, a fly. Wretched dinner dime on you
like on me.
J—, I call you out.
Desert dinner you hit out of the
fade. You’re delightful, a diner:
take it, however you love it.
It’s a gamble.
J—, how do you do?

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