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Chewing My Lip Over You
I'm chewing my lower lip all to hell tonight. I think, over you, but I could be mistaken. Hopelessly, unwisely, romantically looking for something to call a muse. What the fuck? Why don't I get with the times, buy out Old Navy, get me a riceburner and some phat rims, and get with the times? You don't want me worshipping you like some lowly dog with bloody knees. Searching your iris for some ultimate truth, inspiration, do it myself goddammit. I refuse to believe that I am truly alone;;utterly and definitely alone. I am infinitely surrounded by you, yet I am only vaguely aware thus far. How can I open my eyes? I sense you are not far, yet I continue to taste blood on my lip. I try to kick the habit, let this lip be in all its glorious seduction. Aggrandization, I need more of that. It's no fun propping yourself up all the time, for me, I wish to believe in a companion. . .
on my arm. . .
in my bed. . .
in my HEAD. . . .
just for a time, if not for time immemorial. I would teach, and eagerly learn. Christ how I would! Eternally grateful, shining, sparkling my sly grin. . . always. Then I'd stop chewing my lip over you, like a fool.
