I’m so smitten
With you and that
Velvet tongue of yours
Yet it has never been on mine
But the words that you speak
Are clothes fresh out of the dryer
You are so warm and I would like nothing more
To wrap myself in you and feel you around me.
You are my house in Chicago
I fell down the stairs as a child
As I tumbled down those three flights
All I could think was that
Once I reached the bottom
I would to climb up again
And that’s precisely what you do to me
You bruise me and maim me
(Although unintentionally)
Yet I keep coming back for more
I simply tell myself
That I’ll be more careful
It seems to me, though
That every time I stumble up
I fall harder than the last time.
“Perhaps, when we remember wars, we should take off our clothes and paint ourselves blue and go on all fours all day long and grunt like pigs. That would surely be more appropriate than noble oratory and shows of flags and well-oiled guns.” — Kurt Vonnegut, Cat’s Cradle
