My skin will miss you. I want to tiptoe inside your pores and make sure your liver is working. This is when she interrupts to say. I never want to see you again. This is not the last time I see her.

I see a cute girl across the room, eating soft pretzels. I walk up to her and say. She throws her vodka cranberry in my face but goddamn it tastes so good I order one myself.

He struts to the bathroom while I finish my pineapple juice. I walk out of the bar and am on top of a volcano. On Sunday I go to church and tell another priest. Forgive me father for I have sinned. He tells me to do twenty hail marys while watching the Playboy channel.

A thin bird is preening its feathers between my shirt and the top layer of my skin. I try to make the girl with a blueberry striped face understand this but she rolls her eyes in a way that makes me want to breathe underwater until I turn to pile of feathers. I want to do jumping jacks and become a politician. Sometimes I daydream about sipping water in the most sensual of ways. Sometimes my back is a dry martini.

Give me your penguin dust and your Christmas trees, nodded out in their pebble glory.