Taking a tour of his mind. It's cloudy up there, let me tell
you.
He closed his mouth as my hands grabbed the metal bars
leading up to his
Lie house.
I am not a pleaser. Get up.
Lingers on his bridge, congested.
This touch is half the battle, the rest is conjecture to old
ways and his old
Heart.
No one comes here anymore.
Below me is drama. At my level, a pulse. He is above.
Get down.
But he's a motherfucker.
Beached.