and the poor man must have made up his lines for her, sitting there.
must have thought she’s waiting, that she’s kept an exact count of days in a diary, or on the bathroom wall. or wherever girls keep count.
i hope i never age like him. my heart’s just a pump man; I hope it never catch his pains,
and never acts funny before the rains.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment