i still look at the same four pictures. yeah i show them off. we still look like two lovers. we look like dead flowers. we look like sex on a fucking stick. you look like a famous prince. i look like your cousin. we fuck. we take pictures. i love how we are. not necessarily belonging to each other. in our machine, i am the memory and you are the voice.

---grandma's dying on her bed. i fly real fast home. take care of the same things. go get the same pizza. make the same innuendos. drink in the same old bar. make the same faces, just a lot drunker. play the same games. flirt with the same dj. go home with the same man. fuck in the same bed. he wakes me up the same way, just harder. i make the same excuse. he makes me feel the same orgasm. i piss in the same toilet and stare in the same mirror for the same length of time as all of the other same times. i go to the same street where i find the same coffee and then the same highway takes my same hangover to the same suburban house where my same father is doing his same phone calls and then i see an escape. a different plane ticket. i will fly a different way to a different place, thinking different things, reading different books, different money, different memories...

then there are those pictures of you and me and it makes me regress and i feel i trivialize everything.

are we always never the same?

oh, and this is my favorite part of us! of you. when there are days then weeks then months.

then there will be a plentiful harvest.

and it won't ever be the same! oh no! or will it be? let's make this time the longest! let's make this indecent!

should i flood your mail with letters?

should i send you lots of pictures?

no, i'd rather be difficult.

it's easy when you aren't here.

i like to think of bed times.

i like it when you aren't mine.

there's caution in my dreams tonite.

there's nothing left, i've gotten it out.

there's lots of ways we fall in love.