Mornings of severed finger-spaces

I could stay up all night and talk to you about cheap thrills and expensive shoes,
I could make you some breakfast, and tell you how much fun it is to hear things frying in a hot pan,
I could ask you to tell me what you thought of my collage on the wall,
I could take a walk with you on late afternoons,
I could show you a photograph that I took,
I could whisper private jokes in your ear, with every body around,
I could make faces at you,
I could scream and shout at you,
I could write overly sentimental verses to you,

I could, and I would
But would you still love me in the morning?


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