i miss the good all days when we didn't have to pretend
the new York kinda love, were we fuck covered in paint
in denial to each others emotions, driven by sex
when in the sad poetic ways we stared at each other in winter coffee shops
"double shot of espresso" ..."hot coco"
the sad knowledge you have to go home, raise your parents
and yet we are caught with our pants around our ankles
masturbating to each others images
snickering in our disgust, while our hand is blooded
