the_good_moments werewolf they would sit in bed and talk, saying ridiculous things. "love" he'd intone when she'd playfully cling to him like a wet sweater. "love" as if he was the sesame street tutorial where the word is voiced and then the demonstration provided. she licked the inside of his upper lip, he brushed his hand through her hair, and her neck filled his palm with a perfect serendipitous calculus. "i want to do it til we break the bed" "i love it when you talk dirty" she said in a southern drawl. "i want to break the bed. you like that when i break the bed. i'm going to break the bed, and then we'll do it on the floor, and then i'll break the floor." hugglebuggle she said. words are made up. he, she, they both felt like they understood both the irony of it, and the truth and beauty. it was a wonderful feeling, the cynic bathed in god's light. "i looked up sexiness in the dictionary, because you are the sexiness" he said in a camp french accent. "and there was half of your picture, because just half of you was a valid description of the sexinesss. i had to look up the very sexiness to find the whole picture" "let's do everything together" she said. "let's get our haircut together. let's poop together." 040424 what's it to you? who go blather from