the revolution of a rainbow on a guitar.
we hold primary hands and orchestrate secondary love-making that we call innocent fucking. we tower over deadheads and jump from the tallest of buildings as we shatter to our predetermined "little deaths". we shake the bed better than any earthquake and contemplate simple fatalities while chugging back iodized hydrogen molecules. my chest rises and sinks with the inhalation of a cancerous carcinogen – you smoke your joints and feel your pain. we're so used to sharing our crayons, but as adults feelings don't come in boxes of 64, so i'll give you some purple love if you promise you'll return it at a later date.