Hey, You.
Yes, You with the fetching vocabulary.
I want to see your intellectual body, every capillary.
When I read what you write, your words leave me very
inspired and aspiring for acquired taste.
I pause with haste, but I don't waste time.
I stop to check out your poetic hips by the waist line.
Your words strike me like deep chords and a ba**line.
You make me stay up late at night and rise early in the daytime.
I like you for you. Or, do I like your words?
You write poems that shatter gla**, so I sit attentive in cla**.
You're the teacher so I observe from the bleachers
and await my fate that won't come too late 'cause
the bell will sing its ring 'cause the ending near.
My moment will come, reminiscing is here.
The silhouette I once wrote about, I think it's you.
You keep me afloat while I'm sinkin', boo
So I think of you and link the clues that
she may be the opposite of lazy and make me
yearn for more and desire what's in store.
I hope she hires me, for sure, and I catch her with galore
in the presence of my intellect.
I stand proud with posture erect and detect the effect
she dispenses through her wishes, while I'm hoping to obtain these digits.
These magical numbers that I'll dial and live off until slumber
because I hunger for the food for thought that she brought to the table.
I'm finally stable, and she's made me that way.
I want to live through it again, so I take the backway
and start over again through my imagination,
but now I want reality, not my own creation.
Two poetic minds come together forever
and flow down to the ground like a dove's feather.
I love the weather that you control. I'll console
and configure the conversation about to happen
and the crowd will be snappin'.
It'll be me, you, and an intellectual stage,
our conversations making love without s** on our page.
And as I remove the boulder from in front of you and prepare for the new,
I feel a hand on my shoulder as you commence with those soft lips
and dispense a "Hey...You..."