Late night, you got the system blaring
music down in the kitchen
if this your way of slowing down
I'll take it. These nights we stay in
rather than enjoying the rain
outdoors, you dance naked and settle
on my lap. You feed me wine and crackers
after yourself, the wine staining
your teeth and we bloom without the
bonfires.
We leave the music on, 70s and 80s
sensual shit that we wouldn't unfold
our ears for if we weren't drunk. You
loved to poke my ribs, forced me to
dance to dubstep and say I dance like
an alien. My taste in music is outdated,
my subconscience can't loosen up
in front of you yet I'm not
detached.
Girl, I'm just trying to make you
feel heightened, starry September nights
will do that and I am still an addict
to the scent of damp sagebrush dressed in
dew, and to your love under blankets
outdoors. Addicted to the derringer tattoo
on your legs, the way your mind frees
without me saying shit. I'm a worthless
poet, but I'm a six foot man to you
without that part and I'm always amazed
how it worked.
