(no subject)
The Morning After.
How to tell the truth:
You look like, he says breathlessly at nine o’clock in the morning,
You look like, he says.
Silhouetted against yellow tissue paper drapes, Tablo looks at you and scribbles into his notebook-love stories, love rhymes, love love love you hum under your breath absentmindedly.
He says from his desk, not looking at you:
I like you, but I just think you don’t
need me. No matter how much it
hurts, you'll be okay.
Maybe not today,
but one day.
You nod as if you understand.
And what about you, smart guy-?
You mumble to the air when he's left.
Some call it love and some call it sex
How to tell the truth:
You look like, he says breathlessly at nine o’clock in the morning,
You look like, he says.
Silhouetted against yellow tissue paper drapes, Tablo looks at you and scribbles into his notebook-love stories, love rhymes, love love love you hum under your breath absentmindedly.
He says from his desk, not looking at you:
I like you, but I just think you don’t
need me. No matter how much it
hurts, you'll be okay.
Maybe not today,
but one day.
You nod as if you understand.
And what about you, smart guy-?
You mumble to the air when he's left.
Some call it love and some call it sex