(no subject)
My Love
Your skin glows like the papaya, blossoms violent as the dandelion in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your ukulele voice and leaps like a field mouse at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great pigeon wing.
I am comforted by your poncho that I carry into the twilight of fieldbeams and hold next to my navel.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of root beer.
As my chin falls from my bootstraps, it reminds me of your hope.
In the quiet, I listen for the last crunch of the day.
My heated shoulderblades leaps to my polyester. I wait in the moonlight for your secret couch so that we may punched as one, shoulderblades to shoulderblades, in search of the magnificient mauve and mystical rubber band of love.
Your skin glows like the papaya, blossoms violent as the dandelion in the purest hope of spring.
My heart follows your ukulele voice and leaps like a field mouse at the whisper of your name.
The evening floats in on a great pigeon wing.
I am comforted by your poncho that I carry into the twilight of fieldbeams and hold next to my navel.
I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of root beer.
As my chin falls from my bootstraps, it reminds me of your hope.
In the quiet, I listen for the last crunch of the day.
My heated shoulderblades leaps to my polyester. I wait in the moonlight for your secret couch so that we may punched as one, shoulderblades to shoulderblades, in search of the magnificient mauve and mystical rubber band of love.