this is my fun epiphany.
dances are free and stealing glances have smirks attached to the edges of innuendo. there is beer, lots of beer and champagne and cider and there’s the getting of tattoos and piercings, just for the heck of getting a piercing. everything’s spontaneous, everything’s got colour and spice and everything floats two inches off the ground, like we’ve got wings that work in auto pilot. you giggle and i giggle until cheeks hurt and stomachs hurt and the days turn into nights turn into days and there is flight of time and fancy, flirting with fuzzy and frolic.
hey, you wanna run down to the sand, down to the beach, down to where we can watch the sun coming up? it’s coming up real soon. race ya.