and even though I'm falling

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.