I study her, "It doesn't feel like I know you. Like... knowledge of knowing you. The presence of it's there though... And you know the rumors... and the thoughts in my head, which still kind of freaks me out but turns me on at the same time..."
``` Jace
I nod and sit beside her, "How many sisters do you have?"
I'm never what I like I'm double sided And I just can't hide I kind of like it When I make you cry 'Cause I'm twisted up, twisted up Inside
Poetry is my cheap means of transportation. By the end of the poem the reader should be in a different place from where he started. I would like him to be slightly disoriented at the end, like I drove him outside of town at night and dropped him off in a cornfield. — Billy Collins