Never were there any signs to indicate it was different. Wrong chemistry, location, date, and time. Now clever words are failing me, not that they ever didn’t. There’s only so much you can say in rhyme. All those nights outlining moves while we sat stranded behind the tube, no movement ever got anyone less far. The only moving we’d ever do came when I served in lieu of a moving crew, and carried all your boxes to his car.
And it’s all right. It was rutting season when you wanted me. Before I could lose my velvet, I lost you. And so tonight, is there some reason that you’re calling me? Some young buck should have stepped up in my shoes.
A kitchen kiss she’d never miss, no pressure, just a steady twist. Years later he has yet to let it go. Long-distance hiss, is that what it is? Or is she pissing bliss into the mist? She’ll call him back next year to let him know. The Ouija sighed, and then said, "Son, there are more pretty girls than one. Now stop asking phantoms what you’re supposed to do. Find one who brightens like the sun, love for the shine and not the shun, and know the dead have even less of a clue than you."