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Skirt Wednesday

I don't believe in young love.
Holding on so tight, desperately to anything like a fucking parasite.
You could be across the room or across the sea.
We could still agree on one thing.
I don't believe in young love.
Embering with breath baited.
Laughing and mistaken.
So if you ever felt that burn, that was me waiting.
But not anymore.
You could be across the room or across the sea, somewhere on the moon or in some small city out in the Midwest or lying next to me.
We could still agree on one thing.
I don't believe in young love.