i could never possibly own your hearts,
but I've been renting your time
and i guess I'm all out of cash 
but i will have enough for a few weeks worth
of the insides of your elbows wrapped around me
by Christmas time, where the best present 
that Santa will bring me on his slay 
will be your plane ticket home.
every penny in my tip jar 
is another second until you're available,
is another second i can afford to waste 
on the nothingness known as money on you
because the time we had fun wasting
wasn't wasted at all but completely sober.
and what little money i have left 
after paying for your express shipping
to the address of my ribcage,
i can spend on soda and gummy bears
because sugar highs with you
are like top hats on giraffes,
a tall thing wearing a tall thing.
and we can climb up that spotted neck
and spread our ti pi-toes on the plateau 
of men's head wear, and reach out into the sky
because I'm closest to the clouds 
when I'm dreaming with you.
maybe you can through in a few stories
for free to your most loyal customer 
because i know you will find a few 
when your searching for yourself out there;
a treasure within a treasure.
when the time comes,
i will pay my dues,
in the cold crisp of green
earned from the ruffled emotions
of working a part-time job.
there is a jar sitting on top of my refrigerator
that says "coming home"
and i can't wait until i can empty it out.