Meet me up on ninety-nine. Beneath the Marco Polo sign. I'll be the one with a box of wine. And a hundred dollar car. . We could talk about the lives we've led.
All alone on the floor. Next to your twin-bed box-spring and mattress. The door is ajar from afar. You can hear bands practicing. . And when they dream they all dream of somebody like you.
Cannot have this, a perfect conversation. Or coast on silence and lowered expectations out the door. You've spent half your life talking trying to get a pause in edgewise.