I typed the first line and it didn't come out write
*******, how do I even begin to right
This wasn't intentional
It was just my subliminal
Telling me, "Hey you drank to much last night!"

The first 2 lines were meant to be that way
Hangovers can fun, especially with wordplay 
For once in my life, I left my typos untouched
And here's the story about how I drank too much

We started at home with a bottle of wine
Shared between the four of us, we were feeling fine
We got to the car
We didn't go to a bar
Instead we went to a friend of mine

His place was close, about 15 minutes away,
As soon as we got there, we were like "Heeeeyyyy!!"
We played a drinking game, called 'ride a bus'
And soon enough, I felt like I was on an actual bus

My head started to spin, my chest felt heavy
I hurried to the bathroom feeling very dizzy
I looked into the mirror
I felt this glooming fear
I thought to myself, "Oh ****, come out already"

And out it came, the wine from before
Just when I thought it was over, and then came more
The punishment I get, for not eating before I drink
Is hurling up everything into the sink

So cleaned myself up, and the sink as well
I wobbled around, I think I almost fell
Someone asked me, "Did you throw up?"
I don't remember who, but I was like... "YUP!"

We got to the car, and reached home safely
I crawled into bed, and I slept like a baby
I woke up this morning, 6.30am, actually
I cleaned up the car, where I threw up unintentionally

Thanks for the party guys, I had a blast
And surely enough, it won't be our last
The next time we drink
Or when our glasses clink
I'll make sure I don't drink it too fast

We rock together in the chair-
your morning tempest nestled into the crook of my arm.
I wait patiently for the edge of your storm
for clouds and cries to ease away and my coffee to cool.

What do you think about in the quiet calm?
Do you think? Or do you simply feel?
Comfortable and complete, I wonder about you
and the person you will be.

What do you see
when you stare
at the wall, the window,
the side of my face?

Colors, shapes, shadows, light- captivate you.
I enjoy watching you try to figure it all out.
Everything new,
nearly too much to take in.

Slowly- the sights, warmth, and motion
overwhelm you.
Your eyes close-
although you fight it.

We breathe together.
I hold you close,
lost in the wonder of your face-
so familiar and strange.

The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me

Again.
And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your

Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.

Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right

Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say

Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.

Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to

Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.

That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.

It was a Saturday morning.

My eyes,
they fluttered,
lashes grazing against
the top of my lids,
pitter, patter, flutter,
am I awake yet?

Hours spent
drifting in, drifting out
somewhere I slipped,
swiftly,
floating in between
sweet, delicious dreams
and soft, serene reality.

The universe opened
wide
just beyond the unlatched windows.
The wind
whispered to me
as it slowly blew by
the quilted drapes.

"The universe is yours,"
it whispered.
Awake, rising,
how I was aware,
senses heightened
by the morning air,
or was it afternoon?

No matter.

Grogginess faded
as my eyes focused
on the whimsical, soft shapes
that shifted, turned,
dissolved, bloated and
withered,
the clouds spoke to
me,
creating a slow, two-step
harmony
in my soul.

Sunlight faint,
that early afternoon light
the kind that
makes everything beautiful,
and poetic,
even the 3, oh wait,
there's 4,
flies buzzing,
circling round and round
the overhead light
were they dancing?
playing a tune?
The sunlight made it so.

'Twas all a chord,
a line from a song,
a poem,
a simple moment
in a complicated world,
and all I felt, smelled, heard, saw, tasted;
I am alive.

These rain drops won't leave me alone. It's not
the clouds that torment me, it's the ******* rain.
The rain drops like to see me miserable, and
the clouds are just their chauffer

I still love the rain, though.
I still love you, though.