how’s it going with that new chick?
the plot is thick
she is intrigue itself
like me, she’s a poet!
her angles sublime
in time I will woo her
I’ll incline her to me
her feelings besot
is she hot?
the warmth of her nature
is sunlight in summer
her smile alone is a fiery thing
a telephone call from her
a forecast of spring
I’d brave any dark winter
if only to woo her
telephone? mate, did ya even do ’er?
would I dare?
to place me in there
in her frame
in a place where I
might brashly darken
her burgeoning fame?
that’s lame. so you haven’t?
what have I?
have I what?
could I be?
could I not?
could I hope to raise a thumb
to her negative space
which fluctuates
at scales at which
my instruments fail?
no tail? you mean you couldn’t get it up?
I am heightened, my cup
overfloweth, I’ve dispensed
with pleasantries
my peers don’t know me hence
every planetary globe of grass points
to where I wander on high
the very air
my only alibi
did ya even try? grass? you did weed?
oh hush now you see
my condition, a weed
that is innocent
but for displaced position
like my feelings did flee
to be by her bosom, where they
lost all claim to naiveté
yeah, right. okay. cool man. that’s cool.