you are.

a black-topped curling come home kind of guy with his hands to the sky celebrating my ability to speak. a red shoed child sniffing tobacco off buildings telling the wold where it can go. under cherry heavy skies the world subsides the kind of guy who kisses reason out of the mind. a scarred middle man smoking out of the womb in a tv room saying stay, stay, will you stay. a nonbeliever an actor-outer a treatymaker wearing brown pants. a curling curving knower loose in fumes wearing her hair around your neck to keep you warm and remind you how it could be. an apathetic amber bottled marked i will rescue you. an orange pen in a pack of ten, a whitman for your long hair. the thing that proves the many sides of a woman, the spontaneity of a woman, the always unsure epic heroine sailing off and itching to come home. a lip curling ash covered maniacal ready to go scheming kind of lover.