As my lips trace down
The supple curves of your body
I think to myself,
"God I'm drunk...who are you anyway?"
And the tormenting rainclouds of my subconscious
Overcast my soul, and I wonder...
"Will there be pizza left when I get home?"
Or will it be like all those other times
When my parents said,
"You're a boy...you're tough...you can take it...
You're made of nails, snails, & puppy dog tails...
Which is why we hit you on the head with hammers,
And put salt in you eyes,
And made you sleep in the doghouse."
Then I think to myself,
"Oh, that wasn't me, that was you..."
But who are you anyway?
And I kiss you again.