breakfast at tiffany's, but
we can still get a cat named cat,
and i'll still kiss you 'i'm sorry'
in the rain on 57th street.
i promise to write all our fights like
aaron sorkin, quick quips quilting
together until they hang between us in sheets,
all barbed wire and typewriter keys. (it's fine,
we'll use them as drapes).
and if christopher nolan ever flips
our hallway, i promise, i'll throw the gun away
before my subconscious can fire at anything
your mom bought us.
and if kubrick's elevator ever opens up
and all the blood pours out,
i promise, i'll be there.
i'll have floaties.
and even if this whole world turns
out to be a fake, i promise,
i'll unplug us from the matrix,
and we'll go learn kung-fu.
but more than this,
more than any of it,
i promise,
we will never, ever,
become gigli.
