If I could make the perfect dude he'd be the split screen side of me. Doing the ain't and bugging the Mic. I'd wrap my arms around him and squeeze the melodrama of my mother out of his sight. If I could write a poem it'd be defining the memory of gargling my Port as it numbs my lid and sparks my tongue.
Trying to see the better side of me. I don't really know if it's there but I pay no mind to the indescribable feelings that should be inside when I view the world. I change my time and shuffle the pace edging from the turbulent passion in my eyes.
I'm the flipping side of the coin. I'm the rough edge of the cotton soaked in olive oil to decompress the frizziness of Venus. Tasting the warmth of fudge as it slivers down my spine I gulp in the fresh scent of desperation. Seeing my heart run amok in Berlin, I slouch into the nothingness of Ohio.
If I could create the perfect me it would be the softer humane side of me. Reaching forward to clasp her in my arms I dissolve into a pillar of garlic. Doing wrong. Doing right. Take a bite out of my neck. To moisturize the essence of my soul with a gavel and sea water. Moon Beams and galaxies. If I could form the perfect song the notes would weep apple's of green and lilacs.
Glory.
-- Copyrighted. It belongs to me and the Universe.
