The Night With 3 Stars

If I did happen to be thinking about you, I’d be thinking about you like toilets think about SWASS. Like girls think about baseball pants, yes I’d maybe think about your…

There’s even a chance I could slightly maybe precisely be thinking about you like keys think about getting lost in the purse, like every senior girl thinks about becoming a nurse, like I’d think to rehearse this last verse and whether or not I should curse. Or just roll my eyes.

If I sat down to think about you, I’d think about you like ties think about wives picking them out, (*nervous*) like my dad thinks about my eagle scout, like chopsticks think about Americans and take-out.

You know, it’d actually be funny if I were thinking about you like cheerios think about cholesterol. Or like if I thought about you in general, and I know you think about my pectorals.

There was this one night, it was foggy and we could only see 3 stars, but I thought about you. I actually did think about you. And we thought about each other.  You know, thought about us like lips think about licking, and you said I was unwitting, and your parents thought about our relationship they were forbidding. So we began kissing and I thought about stripping like the movies, and the strap on your tank top was slipping while our fingers were linking and we were rigging the system. Damn the system.

I thought about us like Michael Jordan thought about quitting, like Harold Miner thought about quitting, and I can’t quit thinking about you like the night with 3 stars.

I’m thinking about you like curse.

In a minute,

Paul.