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Sit Down and Let Me Look at You
And let me gather some inspiration
Sit Down and Let Me Look at You
It’s not objectionable to me for a man to make profit, dear Asha, even if it’s necessary to engrave a woman’s ring in order to call her his.
I try to be productive, but no one respects poets — their mere existence supposedly makes their lives shrink and otherwise scare away the unwitting stranger who knows only few words.
Checking out your figure helps me recollect my previous mistakes and be glorified in the blessing from which our love has sprouted.
You may not find my structure recognizable, my verbal skills less than average.
But let me combine this bit of writing with some macaroni and feed your body and soul.
The written word is immune to evaporation, but with a healthy dose of competence we can nail the clapboard where it belongs or resurface the concrete walkway and still have space to have casual sex later.
I’ve realized over the years that you can’t dodge your fate, can’t continue to hide your liquor bottles in the duct and copy over graffiti from one page to the next.
My tact for this business stands tall like a Belgian cathedral.
