I want you
to bring me flowers
like only you who knows
about spring.

I want you
to tell me stories
as if you are Chekhov
in Calvin Klein underwear.

I want you
to dim the light
as if you are God
on the last day.

I want you
to  fuck me
like how Hawking does it




Miya Ko is a writer in Southern California who enjoys waves and coffee.

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