What Took Me To Twelve

I found you in a garbage can, a Playboy magazine took you home. Went in the back way, then snuck you up to my bedroom. And you were the sun and the moon rolled into one, better than Margaret next door, who’d leave her blinds open, but was as flat as a boy. And I’d take you out every day to look at, always each time finding another reason to show exactly what you meant to me, then. When I was finished with you, hid you under my mattress, or on top of the bathroom drop ceiling for those special dates before I'd shower.