It's My Job (To Fuck You On Your Birthday)

Recover post? If you say so, but recovery post is more like it. On the TTP, TTC is close to the top, under get divorced but before get a ring, so motherfuck a hater and vilipend a maligner, whichever prophylactic prose best protects your socioeconomic fragility from poetic pratfalls. What I really mean to say is: those cavalier cavilers so don't mean shit to an obstinate moppet like me and neither do their creepy threats of h-e-double hockey sticks nor their obsession with status (quid pro) quo. You can't teach an old god new tricks and I don't take no kind of blood money from no kind of people; and theirs is saturated with mine from the massacres of my youth. But enough of that gimmick. On to more writable, ergo readable, things, like how much I love to suck you when you're still mostly soft and I'm still mostly asleep.

I really feel in love with you when you tell me the truth. I feel like an adult. Like I matter. Like I'm important to you. I feel real.

Speaking of real, I'm rill sorry you can only have my ass for the next few days! I know how much you love pink snapper, so a thousand humble apologies for getting put in time-out. Maybe if you could just make-play like it's a stranger; you love anything that presents a shot at novelty. Come on, now. Tell me I'm lying.

Good god, I love when you're in bed next to me. You're the best kisser. Epic. Epic.