My wit is screened in with a pen My love is not lost Constantly a blur I am TuesdayI felt so pink. We talked all night about everything we could. There was an old and racist joke a wet submarine with a deep reservoir of courage and the last race that Paul ever ran in. We talked about the last stage of cancer until you cried and I held your hand. I was terrible, a drunk without shame. I shared my cigarettes and we cheated on your wife until morning. There is nothing to fear. God is lonely, just like you. All she wants is to watch TV, Happy Days I think.
You said, Amen. Then I did too. It was funny so we laughed at the same time, naked and warm.