3 and counting

A few hands with six fingers tinge a crowded canvas, each section dramatically mismatched from the other-they did not clash. In fact, perfectly, they arranged together-almost like my skin to yours. Splatters, faces and yellow hand prints-blotted wood and stained carpets; i fall asleep on white rugs. I could not inflame your green, because i left the lighter in your car-fuck. Black windows turn transparent and you have to move to the bed to trick your mom! Remember the time we did it in the dressing room of Goodwill? 

I can't wait for Mexico.

Once she told me she was hungry for me.