Asking out Erin

Horrified, the sound described her decisive indecision.

I asked her out, round about, I’m reliving my own revision.

 

                                        *

 

I am close to a unified theory between nervousness and outcome via quantum physics via the predictable rhythms, yet unpredictable patterns of  simple, hand-holding, cheek-kissing, lung-sucking, body-enveloping, smile for the picture, got some gum, nice boobs, ass-pinching dating.

 

We’re talking the randomness of particles, not the predictability of waves.

 

It's molecular. Patterned waves are at best an odds on maybe.

 

                                        *

 

I’m so Einstein. I gotta shake that predictability thing. String theory, here I cum.

 

                                        *

 

Good thing Nancy has a reign on me. Otherwise I'd be bucking like a bronco looking for a mare into which to sink my studly steed seed. As it is, my ass is bouncingoff the walls of this untidy, man-lived-in, Red Bank apartment. Clothes strewn about like a post-model shoot. The scent of spring dueling with a compacted hamper of socks and t-shirts. Lefty, and all his molecules scattered about. Me and my PSP on level 6 (Roadkill, no braggin rights, yet. Thought I did dispose of Cousin Eddie rather handily).

 

Totally into American Idiot. Totally into American DNA. Totally into this Perpetual Notion Machine.