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acoustic rock boy 101102

May 13, 2007

(This is a love poem I wrote to an unknown someone. I wrote it a couple months into my college life, when my romantic side was at its brightest. It has faded in a way, or rather, learned to burn brightest when in the presense of the cleanest oils. Anyway…)

Moonlight evenings in grassy fields
Central Park in my backyard.
How great, how good, how nice is your song.
You sing to me,
and you’re my acoustic rock boy.
And we’ll watch stars grow
And we’ll eat popcorn and pizza
I’ll read silent, or write,
and you’ll play for me.
I’ll put one hand on your hip
you’ll put one hand on my neck.
A kiss,
then more guitar,
Like in a smoke-filled club at midnight
It would take me a year to find you when you move,
And I’ll be poor for you.

I’ll try to sing to you under a dark beer sky.
And I’ll fiddle with a pencil for your name,
And I’ll be your little writer,
And you’ll be my acoustic rock boy.

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One comment

  1. Musicians are overrated as datable material.



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