The Nervous Game

Floating in and out of my memory
Is the feel of your skin
on top of mine
My hands are in yours
Last Friday night
"But if he comes in, we'll have to stop, you know"
Yeah.
Our drunken actions
seemingly reptitious
you and me
(So long as no one sees)
Mouths on your hand
We're not nervous
Just testing our limit

Hungry, That's Really All

When push came to shove, you showed exactly what you were made of. I saw little glimpses before, little peeks of how fate and the stars would align to reveal such a cotastrophy, so it shouldn't be so lurid and unexpected, but I must admit that I was somewhat blindsided, and now I don't know how to even write you off.
Maybe I shouldn't.
Doesn't mean that I won't.
I never tried to prove anything, did I?

On another, completely unrelated note: I enjoy sitting here with her, thinking of outlandish, optimistic scenes that will probably never be (he).
But, you know, we'll see.