An Ode to David

It's not so much a poem.
As sentences with spaces.
The first time I spoke to you,
I was late for work.
Your hair astounded me.
I questioned your sexuality.
You wanted to hit this,
But I wanted the loser nerd from next door.
Bad choice on my part, yes?
But better because if you broke up with me,
I'd have killed you.
Show tunes and curly fries,
Wee hours of the morning.
Dancing, Singing and laughing.
This poem sucks.
But I'll keep going.
It reminds me of you.
The suckiness.
And the fact that it's about you.

We were drunk.
You came out.
I wasn't surprised.
Patti cried.
"Shhh. SHHHH."
Drunk comforting is not my forte.
You are not a ninja.
I love you anyway.
Pasta sauce and a bag of pepper.
Delicious yet it burns.

You got me high, we laughed.
I ate a salami, Chocolate chip cookie and salsa sandwich.
I win at being high.
Naked in pools.
Drunk nights.
Mafia. Myspace. Facebook.
Welcome to my world.

"Show me your scrotum"
They thought it was me.
Laughter. Pwnful. Win.

The men are all ugly,
Come here Gay boy,
lets make out in a closet.
It's like 2 years ago all over again.

French fries. Burgers.
Milkshakes. Other foods.
You ever realize we eat a lot?
This poem is really long.
Its not even a poem.
Its like a lazy blog.
Dedicated to you.
Sorry Readers.
You're welcome Poodle.

Speaking of...
You'll always be my Poodle.
And I'll always be your Pookie.
And I promise when you come to England
We'll be drunk and obnoxious
and I'll make you cook for me.
bring your spring form pan.


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