We’re Up All Night To Get Lucky
If you skip that damn track again
Hopping off the silvered rails
In a lipless catapult, I won’t follow.
You’re already outside smoking
Someone else’s cigarettes and
Not even your brand. You told me
What your brand was and it wasn’t
A woman with a one-syllable name
But you’re under moonlight,
Aching. I am supposed to understand
Just about everything. The lean comfort
And what I want and mist.