filling time

I started telling her

about this Bukowski poem I had read,

but then I remembered

she could care less

so I didn’t,

that’s the way it is

with us,

makes the whole process

so much easier;

sometimes I forget the rules

and she pretends to listen,

but most of the time

we just remain silent;

there is one thing

we do really good together,

and I suppose

from a practical point of view

that is the only thing that matters,

because when we do that one thing

I don’t really care

about a Bukowski poem either;

and I realize

that everything else

is just filling time

until we can do that one thing

again.

.

.