on my golden ring sun.
The run on my no-intend pun.
He was the pin in the powdered keg.
My twin, my left leg.

He was my broken wing.
The woken man in a G-string.
A six-pack without the head.
An eight-track that's long dead.

He was the crack in the mirror.
The smack, so I couldn't see clearer.
He was a song without the chorus,
a **** that hit my *******.

I was a puppy in his hand.
He was the guppy
that landed in sand.