4.20

4.20
that's the time,
behind the bike sheds,
underneath the street light
in the sheet rain
where dreams tap 'top the tin roof
and passions shiver under white collars.

I would look better
in my own blue sweater
but I don't mind.
Your sweater's baggy
and gives my heart
the flutter-byes.
 
4.20
that's the time
when I'm sparking up another goodbye
and bending a bow for my favourite girl
and leaving the twinkle on another Dick's table,
another flutter, another good night.

Pull over the car,
put your hands on the bonnet
and spread your legs,
tell the truth it'll serve you well
while I lubricate my inner thigh
and press the used condom on the outer side
as you wish away hopes of pride.

4.20
that's the time
the game was mine, Alpha man.
Fear of girls, it is a new one but
this is fun when you decide
to take a ride and speed and
reverse and hit me up, fuck me up again.