he's a molecular physicist who dropped out
for the hell of it, for the flesh colored bra
barely hiding the cleavage bouncing up and down
he'll admit now he's a world class bobblehead
but she's still nothing but a notch in his bed post
laughing as he carves one more scar
into the autumn burnt wood of the frame
she knocks the candle off the night stand
and they just laugh out loud
what little math left in his tired brain let him know
one less dainty motel, and two less shriveled souls
was for good anyways
