I wanna be your lover.
I wanna be your friend.
From the sorry beginning
To the sordid end.
It’s a slow fade to crimson—
On that you can depend.
I wanna be yr boggle.
I wanna be your brave.
Its only yr company
That I seemingly crave.
I’m yrs for a song;
Command me, yr slave
Yours’s for a song;
Simple, like Do Re Mi.
Let me in yr fortress door
And let’s see what we can see.
I wanna dance with you.
I wanna hold your hand.
It’s safe to say
I’d like to be yours to command.
Let’s hit the dancefloor—
Move Hot Mama! Shock the band!
I wanna impress you.
I wanna write you a poem.
Maybe trickle yr secret garden
Between the xylem and the phloem.
Not being the least bit tricksey,
Just ask dear old dead Gollum.
Yours’s for a song,
Simple, like Love Me Do.
Let’s walk and talk all night
And see if the midnight is really blue.
Insinuating bubbles emanated from the scuppered dragon
A fool’s bargain of untendered origin led us to just here
A poet’s lazily pulled rhymes flailed aloof on page one
A new path was desired, that much was perfectly clear
Could you loan me your smile since you’re not using it
Since my mood is lost in translation or nixed in transit
The meme of my distant daughter swears I haven’t Alzheimer’s
My phytonutrients seek softened skins and perplexity
Slices of hard orange sweet potato seek out boiling waters
But speeling is an acquired taste, marble at my dyslexity
Would you loan me your arms since you’re not using them
I’ve this tightness that rattles along with this morning’s phlegm
Heading happy back eastward on a defogged highway 71
Pralines and tourist cup delivered recorded on every tablet mile
But the aimless poet still cannot get off the floor of page one
Freezing rain means we’ll all meet here for quite a while
Could you loan me your eyes since you insist on not seeing
My arms and smile reaching for my most favorite human being