we live to drive really fast
in that mazda we both like to bash
"it's so ugly, an awful car" we'll say
but we wouldn't want it any other way
we sing too loud with spoon microphones
our teeth are alive, not just clattering bones
we sing about jackie and wilson
(that's what we'll name our children)
talking about them is our muse
to compose new life, new art
you sing, "let's raise them on rhythm and blues"
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Don't you just love Hozier.
YOU ARE READING
the inevitability of wrinkled bedsheets
Poetrythe life of two, shown in one ~a bunch of sappy lovey-dovey stuff that will probably make you vomit blood~
