I think my girlfriend
actually wants to get married with me.
Sign of the times:
I now own my first pair of
prescription sunglasses.
“Whatev, Bub.”
(She’s Beelze Bub’s cousin,
for those keeping score.)
I’m less interested in devastating
than I am in a Calgon-esque
“Take me away!”
But I do need to weigh myself
on a decent scale,
preferably while breathing
the salt air as it wafts in
from the Adriatic.
Uranus is bloated tonight;
a measured gift from the sky –
this faraway sky.
