The first time I fell in love was a smash of patches. The leaks in my pantlegs were atrocious. Something needed to be done, so it was. I was in love.
The second time I fell in love the door came back at me, like its hinge was a weapon. It hung there afterwards. It was not an easy thing to fix.
The third time I fell in love I forgot about my wings. All that flapping. That's made all the difference.
I'm tired of grading already. And tired of people making promises. And the train that toots its horn at intersections heeds very little. Lights flash and things fall down to block the road. And from this phone you can call the whole sky \part.