buttdial

nowhere to begin this poem because it’s too big. i would collect every fuckin’ four leaf clover for you, braid them into a flower crown and place this circlet of bastardized good luck gingerly on the top of your head, like a halo. it’s funny how pretty flowers grow in the gutter. funny how my city, your small town have always wanted to gut us, wanted to devour us whole. nowhere to put my love. not enough money for the plane tickets. my darling angel, if i lived in the same country as you did, we would conquer, rent an apartment together. work as cashiers in the day or something, i don’t know. we’d make an escap