When I’m with you it’s
as if Gabriel never fell from the sky.
Or maybe he did and he bypassed hell and
fell straight into the arms
of a miracle.
You make me want to write sentimental poems,
but I like my poems a little ugly,
with the teeth knocked out,
a smidgen of blood on the verse.
And without getting too sentimental
You make me perk up at the sound of your voice.
I swear it keeps me in tune.
It’s as if your voice is a little metronome,
Keeping 4/4 time
And saying dance with me,
-angels keep tempo too.