All a fog can tell us is that even the mountains need
a break sometimes, even the trees. Oh my gosh
I don't even know about you. I don't know. Little
cloud, get you stuck about me, get your lightning
about my man form. See how everything lifts, every
thing alights. I got puddle muck by the barrel, I dig
ditches by the shovel. I got beard hairs by the chin.
Touch it, if you want. I mean, it's what I want. It is.
I want you. I want you to sing me a thousand songs.
I want to have these things in my ears. Rattle my
smallest bones. This is the sweetest vertigo. Look
at me, I am spiraling and if I am to tell the truth
to you, I am telling you that I fell in love with your
rook first, with all your dirty birdies, and then I fell
in love with you. I want to write you a new Woody
Allen movie. I want to show you I can be good, I
mean, we can see something beautiful everyday
and that is a math I am interested in calculating, in
figuring. I figure you, your hips, your knees, I figure
all the ways these things can feel against my mouth.