coupled
Peter and I have been a couple for 4 years.
Is it funny - odd funny - that we still mack-out in elevators?
Every time we kiss I feel like I’ve won the man-lottery,
that I’m counting and spending the loot all at once.
The man stirs my chemicals.
The bell dings and we separate like caught kids.
The inside elevator door’s mirrored - he’s so handsome.
I know writers are alchemists, that we’re guilty, at times,
of gilding the ordinary until it shines - but he’s the real deal.
.
.
Songs for this:
There goes my baby by Kelly Jones
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