He’s in his boxers. He’s got his wine.
She’s in her Dopey pajamas. She’s got her whiskey.
He’s there. She’s nowhere.
They meet up on that glowing smirking screen.
“Baby, this is our song.”
Glorious YouTube, the jukebox that will never die!
You’re the one that I want.
Just joking.
I like I like I like.
I do not like at all.
Black hearts. Pink hearts.
Scintillating series of sighs.
Oh if only.
Oh you tiny piece of regrettable God.
This will hurt tomorrow.
Tonight we are birds
peck peck pecking
at a planet made
of crumbs.