i waited up for you,
my peter pan,
the one who covered all the clocks with molasses,
their hands stickier than
mi yours ne.
we'd be lovers on the moon by now but
you are a coward;
listening to alt rock and making
chocolate chocolate chip cookies
doesn't make you an original.
maybe it's true that
the camera doesn't love you,
but i do, so curl your lips around
syllables instead of cigarettes and smile;
talk to me.