Pontiac, MI

You’ve saved me a place in a circle made of ashes
Making up favors in the bottoms of Easter baskets
But a quiet kiss on the cheek is all I’ll get
You say that it’s hoes before bros in Pontiac
It’s this couch that I’m sleeping on
Familiar revolver of patterned behavior
I’ve got a bottomless pocket of well thought-out compliments
And an admirable hunger for everything in your fridge
But it’s this couch I’ll be sleeping on
It’s this couch I’ll be sleeping on