a short romantic poem

Yes, yes, yes.
Yes.
Come, come, come.
Come?
Yes come, yes, come.
I get you.
You?
Smoke?
No.
Weather?
Yes.
Come?
Come, haha.
Pick it up.
Sorry. Here.
I see.
Haha.
Yes.
Come.
My soul, s-o-u-l.
s-o-u-l?
Crying.
Ok?
Ok.
Crying?
Ok.
Ok?
Yes.

-K.

Tags: Poetry, Romance, Sadness

9 comments

1. K. says:

   for duh nston

   November 27th, 2005 at 10:42 pm

2. Isaiah says:

   The fat old man.

   November 27th, 2005 at 11:13 pm

3. Duh nston says:

   this must be how george dubya feels when bono asks him about nuclear non proliferation

   November 27th, 2005 at 11:15 pm

4. Duh nston says:

   you mean elvis-loving fat old man, isaiah

   November 27th, 2005 at 11:17 pm

5. Isaiah says:

   yes, the fake-elvis-autographed-dentures-loving fat old man.

   November 28th, 2005 at 06:49 pm

6. Duh nston says:

   the old always have the luxury of amnesia

   November 29th, 2005 at 08:07 pm

7. K. says:

   I would rather you discuss this poem than fool around you idiots.

   November 29th, 2005 at 08:09 pm

8. Duh nston says:

   my dentures just popped out in shame

   November 29th, 2005 at 08:11 pm

9. Isaiah says:

   now how will you bite dust?

   November 29th, 2005 at 10:06 pm

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