I can’t stop thinking about your 38c’s. I know that’s bad of me, but I’m a naughty boy who must repent.
You wrap me around your littlest finger like a piece of blue string and I’m feeling patriotic and I feel like going to the library and reading about Camp David.
Something about your firebrand DNA that resisted all chemical reactions until we happened to meet and created something more lethal than gunpowder and more prolific than Jack Kerouac on a tear.
Prime real estate and curb appeal are two very different things. Keep this in mind the next time you’re reading to a bunch of dog paddlers who fear for their very souls when challenged by the real thing and I’m not talking about Coca-Cola.
Your poetry rocks my world and I know how cliché that sounds, but I swear when experiencing your voice ebbing and flowing like the waves on the cause and effect sea it’s like I’ve never been born and am 10,000 years old simultaneously.
You are rock and roll and I just wanted to tell you how much I admire the way you create the most inescapable and supple of cloud-tattoos with your operatic word symphonies.
I can’t stop thinking about your universal mind. I know that’s awfully high minded of me, but I am an intellectually curious human being who never stops to think about the consequences.
Something about, everything about you. “As I walk, let me walk close to Thee.”