cobalt

Am I supposed to have a theme?

The harder Tom tried to fasten his mind on his book,
the more his ideas wandered.

I failed to exile myself
from this poem after that last fiasco in Virginia.
Chunks of this house/ these photos all over creation.

Larissa kisses me goodnight on the forehead.

Kiss? What do you kiss for?

Please Becky
And he tugged at the apron and the hands
by and by she gave up
and let her hands drop
her face all glowing with struggle,
came up and submitted.
Tom kissed the red lips and said
Now its all done, Becky.
And always after this you know
you aint ever

she must have the consistent taste of nicotine.

Ahhhh, love is such a difficult word. Sucks.
I dont know how to use it right. For the right emphasis.