Dropped bottle crimson red,
theres vine on my bed–
deranged classic villan laughs,
you know I don't do anything in halves.

Sweet summers picked flowers,
those thoughtss that my mind devours–
swept smitten besotted fool,
I'm with my camera in front of you.

Sorta' drunk and tipsy too,
Heart in my throat I'm getting no air–
pity, such lovelorn idiot, I'm aware.

Poems tonight and then at noon
after all i know I can't say it;
but i still wish–
me and you.


-SPN
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