Lick my Crocs As I swing from tree to tree. They taste like dreams. See my toes as I swing by. Don't look too hard though, For I'm not too perfect. There is perfection in imperfection.
My sillage lingers on behind for you. Smelling of wild gardinias. Your thoughts still see me in Memories like cinamatic films That will inevitably fade.
I swing by And our eyes meet in a temporary gaze. Let's break it and keep swinging. My touch is gentle to the branch on which I swing. It supports me well; I trust it with my life. Day after day, it looks to me. I water it and keep swinging. I can be no other's branch, For I am busy!