It'd be an easy out,
to take some Benedryl and make myself throw up.
Deeply impressing, leaving a mold to bear witness
to my foul state. I'd like to go to a movie or eat Chinese food.
That would only make it worse, though.
And I don't feel like my head weighs eight pounds or whatever. It's keeping me from looking up,
looking out at the window and the snow that's melting and the snow that looks light blue.
Sleepy though I slept till noon.
Let's get together and sit at my kitchen table. Talk about menial things. Finish up the tea. (won't get it back till the fall).
Let's lay together on the couch and let the sun crust up our lips.
So when we'd kiss, it'd be like two rocks.
And here's where I insert the metaphor about sparking a flame, but I'm too sick to be clever.
Bringing us back to point A.
That I'm sick and wishing I wasn't.
That I'm lazy and wishing I saw you today.