I’m a little different, and you say you are as well.
I have no money in my purse, and you have no job to keep you secure.
I live with my family, and you live with yours,
so no fun in the house wherever we go.
I write but I have no fame, you throw baseballs at trees and are not
a pro.
We sit under a tree where we don’t have to pay a meter.
We walked twelve miles to this park and I got dressed up for this.
You put a little flower in my hair, and I lay on your chest.
I want to love someone and not be cliché but respect our friends.
I want to be loved by someone who accepts everything.
I want to love someone who is unafraid.
A guitar is too big to carry on this trip, and there to our left is a metal picnic table.
Come with me, take these small wooden sticks from the tree,
find the bar on the bench, and play me a song.
Play me a little tune from the object in the present.
We are present, we are here, and the xylophone is what we shall make out of this ugly back metal picnic table.
I’ll dance upon the table and hear you play.
A little song,
for little time,
the first date is the scariest era of love.
Will I spend the rest my life with you?
This would be the greatest thing anyone would do
for me.
Play me a song as I dance for you and we learn within space and earnestly living in the present time.
When it starts to rain and your instrument rusts, carry me home, and play me a song
with your voice even if you are not singing.
Trust me,
I want to hear it.