straight down to all that beauty

in cliche lipstick lined media plastication

Barbie deranged is still perfection, you know

I'm clutching on to your bright pink

too tight for a boy poet shirt

hanging from my eyelashes and

pretty glitter nail polish

(Only pretty because you said so)

and the beads I was wearing the first time

our lips mistakenly collided like

a beautiful car crash.

I want to live in an abstract romance

where we can dance on the roof

while it's raining in caffeine

to a generation of music lost to bad poetry

after midnight in the dark

(because, my love, I'm fucking beautiful

if you can't see my flaws)

in a place where no one can tell time anyway.