Lights are twinkling melodically but it sure as hell ain't Christmas.
Let me wrap my arms around your waist. I'm not enamored, but still content, Love.
Between sweet sips of pomegranate wine, the musky smoke that filters through the room, swift cats, and creaking couches, I sneak grins and stare into space periodically.
After all, the walls are bedazzled with unrealistic constellations.
Let's dance incorrectly by social standards to the beat of the jazz brush, engage in group hugs until we're all giggly and warm.
I'll accept your compliments and morning greetings if you'll allow me to keep my lazy personality.
Maybe sunset was an accurate metaphor for a languid girl.
I don't mind being uncouth in your presence, but calling in the dead of night to inform you of green icing in the fridge is a priority for me.
Let's pick up a hippie and drop her off at Pak's. .