I called her Coco.  She called me Lagerfeld.  I wanted to fuck and have babies that were well versed in The Shabbat prayers and Valentino couture.  

Best. QUICKIE (read:schtup) EVAH.

I secretly want to her to father my children and name the boy Miles.

Weird how I look like Prince Michael I holding on to Janet at the funeral, when clearly, I’m just drunk at my birthday wanting to get some puss puss up in my Weber grill.

Where The Wild Schtups Are

There was that one time when you asked me to pick you up from the Belmont and then the second you got out of my car and into the kitchen you were stripping.  

You were so rad in bed it’s all I can do to not move my hands from the keyboard to an area not meant for typing.

Schtupped.

Miss your body.

She came over on Valentine’s Day and next thing I know, we’re schtupping on the regs. She got in my bed, undressed herself, rolled on top of me, and the rest is HIStory.  I’d call her up during breaks from work last summer and I’d throw her around my duplex, beginning the schtup on my couch and ending up backwards off the end of my Queen size bed.  

Can’t believe we met in elementary school.  

I remember when you PIX messaged me this sophomore year of college.  

I was sitting in a sociology lecture with a boner that could have been measured on a richter scale.  

When the night is young

And the land is free

And the moon 

Is the only light we’ll see

I wont cry

No

I won’t cry

No

I

I

Won’t

Be Afraid

Just As Long

As you schtup

Schtup me.