imaginary tuesday

there's something to the way you move when the kids are playing their songs. you're rocking back and forth, tapping your fingers and your toes; i've never seen something so beautiful: off-beats -- fingers, down-beats -- toes. i'd like to dance with you, but i hate dancing. you make me like dancing sometimes and that's all i really need. no one else makes me want to dance and i think that makes us okay for each other. i've still got paint stuck under my nails from that day we painted our bodies and walked around the house singing. this paint will eventually get washed away. so will you. that's all right because we've all got to move on some time, but i think you'll be around for at least a little while. i like waking up next to you and never making the bed with you because making the bed is pointless and you understand that.