You don’t share me. You own me.

What's that sound I hear? It's just my lifetime It's whistling past my ear

Because if time can be fluid, then maybe something that is just one day can go on indefinitely

And our lips. There isn't enough skin, enough spit, enough time, for the lost years that our lips are trying to make up for as they find each other. We kiss. The electric current switches to high. The lights throughout all of Brooklyn must be surging.

he kissed me hard. "Promise me. Promise me you'll spend New Year's with me next year," he whispered into my ear.

It feels like the city is telling secrets down here, privy only to those who think to listen.

I want to make her cry and then lick up the tears.