You've got a hold on me
I don't want to say
'you
complete me',
but you kinda do.
You
are the Tarzan to my Jane:
opening my eyes to a world
of natural, earthly, primitive beauty.
No, I'm not calling you an Ape man,
I want to make you my man.
You
are the smell prior to rain;
the rush I feel before, after, & during
a thunderstorm. My thoughts become
raging seas of which no sailor dare travel.
You
are the Indian Ink
to my blotted chicken scratch penmanship;
the crossing out of
My pen doesn't move, unless I write of you.
The realization is comfortably odd, just like you.
You
said I looked like Pocahontas,
so will you
be my John Smith?
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