There's
jazz
And
a picture perfect pizza lays on the table
We
both await you,
Me
and my mozzarella,
I
await, then tire,
then despair,
My
desire for you,
like
the pizza, has gone cold
And
then you come.
Something
inexplicable happens.
The
butterflies in my stomach jump.
Should
I let these innocent creatures believe
in
re-birth?
(even
though I might not)
At
your sight?
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