On my road. The second floor of the house is shaking. On boxes. And your kitchen sink is filled with dishes. . Upstairs. The window leads to another building.
Understanding nothing can be so comforting. But understanding you is like biology. You lay there on the bathroom floor. I hold you in my hand and don't be shy.
I'm not a type and you know I really want you. I'm waiting for the doors to close so I can really show you. You're interior is playing with my insides.