If you and I made ravioli, they would sucker punch the stuffing out of Big Bird and his league of cohorts.
We synergize like cosmic Velcro.
Every shared thought another link in the chain link Zoot suit that balloons out with a gas so toxic it turns Teflon into silken lace.
We zip-line from aerated prawns over to mandolin-playing carnies who speak fluent Portuguese without missing a beat.
Moonbouncing upward like an adolescent hero scaling video game chair lifts toward a giant provolone cheese wheel.
If I had a penny for every time I beat you to your own punchline, I would have many pennies.
I can only partially rue the day I met you.
You lured me in like an angler fish playing mariachi music.
My face veiled by sunglasses the first time, mathematical face paint the second time.
The probability you came to the party to check me out: 1
Your slow motion dance moves were surprisingly effective. You even serenaded a plastic bag coyly perched on the dance floor.
I thought I had the upper hand, but the tables mesmerize me with how they have turned in on themselves like whole wheat pasta dough that needs more water.
Crumbled and flaky on the heirloom place mat that never seems to be big enough to contain the mess.
The thing about being brain twins is that you should know what I’m thinking.
You should know how trapped I feel, trying to rationalize a situation over which I have no control.
Pros and cons might as well be dead leaves on the sidewalk.
Some prettier than others but all nonetheless expired
Like moths in a vat of honey.
We synergize like cosmic Velcro.
Every shared thought another link in the chain link Zoot suit that balloons out with a gas so toxic it turns Teflon into silken lace.
We zip-line from aerated prawns over to mandolin-playing carnies who speak fluent Portuguese without missing a beat.
Moonbouncing upward like an adolescent hero scaling video game chair lifts toward a giant provolone cheese wheel.
If I had a penny for every time I beat you to your own punchline, I would have many pennies.
I can only partially rue the day I met you.
You lured me in like an angler fish playing mariachi music.
My face veiled by sunglasses the first time, mathematical face paint the second time.
The probability you came to the party to check me out: 1
Your slow motion dance moves were surprisingly effective. You even serenaded a plastic bag coyly perched on the dance floor.
I thought I had the upper hand, but the tables mesmerize me with how they have turned in on themselves like whole wheat pasta dough that needs more water.
Crumbled and flaky on the heirloom place mat that never seems to be big enough to contain the mess.
The thing about being brain twins is that you should know what I’m thinking.
You should know how trapped I feel, trying to rationalize a situation over which I have no control.
Pros and cons might as well be dead leaves on the sidewalk.
Some prettier than others but all nonetheless expired
Like moths in a vat of honey.
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