my head, these days, is too filled with words to write much that makes sense. instead, all i do is take endless sunny afternoon pictures on my porch of someone who sometimes looks like me. smiling. i think i'm trying to collect evidence. of a life less make believe. i'm exhaustedly happy. thinking about just how much i wish i could collapse on your floor with a thick red wine tongue. and trace fingered patterns into the carpet with the stories we could tell.

all night long.