Tell me, what do you think about when
the debutante moon has lost her charm
and there's nothing on TV to keep you up past 11 o'clock?
Do your eyes glaze over, remembering
how I used to hold your head on my knee and rake my
fingers through your yellow hair, baby?
Does your chest burn like a joint in the night with
the absurd memory of my mouth pressed to your
shadowy abdomen under turquoise plastic stars?
David, it was heaven, making you come undone!
You were dirty and beautiful; a clean-cut
little show choir first date gone wrong.
And I know I said you weren't my type