i stayed up all night writing and now my underwears all in a bunch

backwards and forwards, it's either or at the brim. sometimes i'm walking out the door, "can i get a drag of that? can someone tell me where the movement, the movement comes from? the heat off the street makes the air look ripped and oily; smiling at me coyly. you know what's up, you sly fox in an alter boys clothing; you fucking saint.