I played connect-the-dots with your beauty marks, and I ended up with picture perfect sheet music.
I read your musical notes with a composer's eyes, and heard our song for the first time.
My spine is still tingling.
Mental images of your fine tune is what I've been nodding my head to lately.
Every now and then you can catch me humming your nudity under my heavy breath.
I heavily suggest you resurrect your ancient neglected dust collector
If you distrust the distance in my seldom plucked heart strings.
Sit stripped before your full length.
Perform your reflection backwards,
maybe then you will understand the rhythm in my movement.
Listen when the news is sent,
it's then when the rules are bent.
I'll be waiting to take your lead, make me a victim of your two-step.
Make me an apprentice of your body parts, TEACH ME to dance to your beauty marks.
I'm stepping on toes here and I don't care.
It's hopeless, it's hopelessness.
It's hopelessness holding this openess to blow a kiss
so close your lips but don't get pissed and throw a fist at this vocalist.
I'm not emotionless, in fact I broke my wrist when I wrote the list of all those I miss.
THIS IS MY POKER FACE!
Mr. Feel Nothing.