im stuck in a traffic jam of thoughts
about you,
and the passenger's seat's got all of the fast food in the world

you're that sticky fucking icing,
on a freshly baked cinammon bun

you're the dry, warm air on my feet,
after i've been outside in the snow for hours

you're the insomnia,
that not even meditation can help me escape

your eyes are just the wrapping paper

your smile is that perfect dessert you found at a family dinner you didn't want to be at