The following is a sappy song that might cause abdominal disturbances in some readers. If you are a small child, sibling of the author, or a cynical and heartless human being, then look away. Seriously, just skip this post. Ok, most of the sappiness is hidden, but it still has its moments.
For those still reading, enjoy:
The Breath, The Dance, The Plunge
Don’t think for a moment
I don’t smell the stench
A grass-blade kind of potent
You’ll just have to wrench
The intention
Out of my exhausted hands
I’m all done, gone
And lost in thought
Who cares about what’s not?
Feel the tropics
On your newly swollen lips
Drift past your inhibitions
Name a newborn constellation
After your teary yawn
There it is
The breath, the dance, the plunge
Ask me what this says
And I’ll answer “We’re too in love”
Sure it’s got a bite
But it’s not how I saw it on TV
I’ll remind you late
And you’ll forget to answer me
I don’t smell the stench
A grass-blade kind of potent
You’ll just have to wrench
The intention
Out of my exhausted hands
I’m all done, gone
And lost in thought
Who cares about what’s not?
Feel the tropics
On your newly swollen lips
Drift past your inhibitions
Name a newborn constellation
After your teary yawn
There it is
The breath, the dance, the plunge
Ask me what this says
And I’ll answer “We’re too in love”
Sure it’s got a bite
But it’s not how I saw it on TV
I’ll remind you late
And you’ll forget to answer me
They’ll meet and we’ll melt
Tell your daughter someday
About how this felt
To be loved in such a way
That neither breath of disease
Nor coughing fits
Could ever keep apart our lips
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