I'll take you up on a cup, for I'm thirsty
but our conversation's bound to get wordy
and I'd talk with my hands but they're *****
so I'll wave them around, they're not sturdy

I remember you said when we last spoke
like the comfort of home or an old joke
that a mind such as this tends to invoke
heavy winds in your head, render cloud smoke

and the smoldering flame that you exhale
makes a martyr the words of your tall tale
yet the story unfolds, every detail
fills the lungs in my chest when I inhale