Rich Baiocco

But what if we don’t have the same kind of fun, my love??

Won’t you be weirded out?

Being natural don’t always come so breezy. 

We like our separate strangest reasons the most.

Hide what we hold from the same strangers

And write letters describing desperate seasons.

But being easy was never much fun.

Won’t you please hear me out?

This frozen breath is tired of shouting for the sun, my love.

Summer will appease it soon.

And some afternoon I’ll be at peace with you.