Saturday, January 4, 2014

so I'm just thinking about the summer and how laura and i would lie in our beds and smoke weed with the windows open. our feet were dirty and our sheets were dirty but we didn't care and we hung our towels on the porch and drank wine from a box out of jars while we made dinner. Our summer boys slept over and told us we were beautiful, kissed our blushing necks. we smoked cigarettes on the roof and it made us feel alive and went upstairs to dance in the attic. the sun that poured in through our bare windows every morning was as warm as the blood that ebbed and flowed in our tired arms that pulsed just a little too quickly. low fidelity beach music curled over our heads, entangled in whisps of smoke.

call your office on the phone, tell them you're not coming home

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beautiful

 
 
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