(with lines from yous)
Your zebra bicep is not worth the dopplering,
imaginary blood soup stud.
But I’m dying to know: what does it take
to be a dating columnist?
Copious meatloaf?
A lot of neuroscience conferences?
Praying you have enough blue velvet bandwidth
to find lime time soothing?
When it’s quiet I think of you whining.
That’s my mic drop.
‘Cause in Skinofmyteethville, noise verbs hard.
I wrote this on my phone and emailed it to myself
while running around screaming “Burn it all down!”
I know — I effed it up further.
Tomorrow, I’ll do better.
I want to know what it takes to be a dating columnist, too.
Right??!
What a title!