I woke up this night from a whole day of dreaming that I am with this fine young woman from down south. She has this face that makes pretty apple pies, not that she’s some baker’s daughter no. When you look at her you would be reminded of a cruise through the suburbs. No, not a girl mounted on a cow. Not that. She looks pretty in a skirt though. That when you look at her you would be thinking of kids, bacon and eggs, walking through a local market on a Saturday afternoon or sitting on a rocker reading a white book.

She’d be so nice to come home to.

But this fine pretty thing is a heartbreaker. If you look at the way she moves and think of what she is capable of, you would choose to hang on to your tie. She can manage to slip herself through the crowd and the next minute all eyes are on her. Or maybe that’s what I think. I want to tell her how attractive she is. Seduce her to a conversation on a terrace and enjoy her alone under the moon. But I’d rather not. She may look through my disguise and see that she has swept me off my feet already.

She only looks innocent.

The way she bites her lips after a sip of soda can make you go crazy I tell you. I want to grab her around the waist and kiss her till she arcs. Like a song once said, “ain’t that a kick in the head”. That is just the beginning. I will look at her in the eye and tell her I’ve got you, don’t get away. I will carry her in my arms. I can do it. And make her think she’s cradled in clouds. I’ll dance bossa nova with her. Wait. I should learn ballroom and I don’t sound slick anymore. Must I? I am scratching my head right now. Smiling like silly. Love…I miss you.

C’mon! I’m trying to be romantic! It’s February!