You sat silently with your guitar strings, nonetheless entirely bringing it
Wishing upon some kind, any kind of a mammoth star
Then, there was I, star-crossed by jaded time
Shining bright from my two-foot parapet either way – defence mechanism extraordinaire bordering all too affably upon a striking vision
Honing on in, adamant on a din with yours truly
Cool as a mid-October San Franciscan breeze, these cunning winds seem to want to drive me in your every direction
No need for discretion no more – a glance, a strung-out musician’s whistle, a rather solid suggestion
‘Til coaxing you on over here
To try and set fire to my alcohol-induced glass eyes
All over a sun-kissed and seriously freckled shoulder
The boulder comes down around, and your pretty feet – bare-naked and manicured – begin to pound these fair cobble-stoned pavements
Pure, pure honey-soaked adrenaline on your part

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