We walk as two, but we'll leave one set of tortured footprints/ Now here she comes...walking through the door...giving that look. Since/ I roll with shook wimps...I'm shaking in my boots/ Kids are behind me eating steak and soup, talking 'bout beatbreaks and loops/ And I wanna' turn around...join in on the convo, but I ain't got jack to say/ And it's sad to say...I'm just a poetry fag actin' gay in my black beret/ I just came to this wack-ass café / To drink an ice coffee and kill a bit of time before the matinee/ Why oh why did I need Cappaccino Cooler?/ Now I'm trying to avoid eye contact. Lets see if I can fool her/ I put a look of concentration on my face as I scribble on a napkin/ Squinting my eyes, acting like I'm really serious about this mess of non-sensical pen action/ A web of chicken scratch and ink blots/ Is she still there? Standing awkwardly glaring? I think not/ Look up....think again. Shit...now when/ Is she going stop making me waste ink from my pen as I sit and pretend/ I knew I should have come with a friend. I shrink and I send/ Myself into meditation...and I'm on the brink of Zen/ Is she buying it? I pick up my empty glass...tilt it..and drink the flem/ She's STILL scoping! in fact, this chick's a 10/ At least in my book...which isn't all that well read, but it's been said / Once she gets her grip on men they simply bend/...backwards. She attracts nerds, jocks, substitutes and student teachers / Who all profess their love for all of her protruding features/ There's no fooling this creature, she's WAY fine/ So dope, I'd have to smuggle her across state lines or else pay fines/ What's holding me back is what I heard through the grape vine/ She's a non-conformist freak who only comes out in the daytime/
"Don't look at me." I can feel the burn of her stare on my sensitive skin/ I'm anti-social and I don't know how conversational sentences begin/ Plus, I'm allergic to the medicine of sexual healing/ This impotence is sickening. She's sensual...appealing/ Now I'm covering up my crotch region by crossing my legs/ Lost in thoughts of whores in my bed. It's awful...so I'm forcing my head/ into my forearms. I should...invite her for a cup of Joe/ It would do more harm than good...I just know/
I mean...she's no Natalie Portman, and I've been kind of holding out for her/ Naturally...Now my thoughts spin...and she's on the "out" for sure/ Gradually...contort my mindframe so no doubts occur/ I activate testicular bravery and I shout to her/
Our eyes lock. And time stops.../
She floats over to my spot... and I say "Hi, I'm not/
trying to hit on you like the way all these other guys jock/ I just wanna' let you know...I'm the type of person who lies a lot/
Sometimes I fart and I pick my nose like a maniac/ I'd be glad to front the cost of a date with you as long as you pay me back/ If we ever reach the friendship level where things like that are shared/ And I know my facial hair is weird...but I've been waiting for someone like you to shave my beard/
I'm usually more discreet about my insecurities, but today...I just ain't prepared."/ In all honesty...this dame just stared/ And I was like "Uhhh...yeah.../ So ummm...heh..." Nervous twitches were initiated and out nostrils flared/ Our eyes started wandering and I was rocking in my chair/
I just continued on scared that I lost her...in my upfront approach/ She looked at my napkin and noticed what I wrote/ ...which was nothing I said "The funny thing is...I could have used you as a muse/ Wrote you sonnets in iambic pentameter and then produced/ Mass amounts of unsent love letters and out-of-tune love ballads/ Some valid...but most just to get you thinking of marriage/ It's untrue. I don't want to create a first impression I can't live up to/ I...just...wanna...
She said "Nuff said. I'm a theme park. Ride me until the sun sets."/ So I jumped up on her shoulders as we exited the entrance.
Compositores: Gimme Fund, Paul F Landry (Sage Francis) ECAD: Obra #2146567