Gentle stars stroke the long sky
And soft smells of night tickle the air,
It's peaceful, flawless, quiet; not too dry,
Until my silent voice is still but bare:
Shh, slip your trembling arm in mine,
Press, enfold, and hold my gaze so tight,
Your pretty gaze glints and then it shines;
Your warm, careful, noiseless eyes are bright -
They stare until they burn my heart demure;
The sort that steal my thoughts and sanity
And make my mind naïve; the perfect cure,
Such pearly, pretty, perfect, profanity,
Pretty, pretty ugly,
I don't want
It,
Perfect, perfect *******,
I don't want
It,
Like begging a shooting star
Doesn’t work.
I don’t I don’t want
A salesman selling a smash-
ed car,
I
Don’t,

I do

n’t