Mine’s
on the couch,
snoring.
Loudly.
He
barged his way in
sometime
after midnight
after
stumbling up the
stairs.
He
tossed his shirt
on the
floor for
me to
pick up.
Knocked
over an
ashtray.
He asked
for some water,
but I
was afraid he’d spill
it. But
he forgot he asked.
He’s
covered in beads.
He
dropped a bunch
somewhere.
Said he fell
down
some woman’s
stairs.
They went
every
where.
He just
farted in his
sleep. I
think he
crapped
himself.
There’s
a woman’s
phone
number on a
napkin.
How’d he
get that?
He’s a
party God.
He’s an
Ass.
I can’t
wait to see
him
again.
No comments:
Post a Comment