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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Music · #2093350
A poem about openers and a face in the crowd
Girl, I want to make beautiful music with you

oh, come off it, I didn’t mean it like that-
If our sex ever required euphemisms, it wouldn’t be worth the cost of condoms
or the Congressional hearings over your birth control

And as fun as all that sounds, I was actually thinking more of ninth chords set in 3/4,
two verses in to the breakdown and breaking down on the come home
when you squint down at a scrap of my scribbled lyrics and come back scrunched up,
all smiley as you tell me you’re not yet fluent in slapdash,
and you have a better rhyme for that last bit anyway

Cause I’m looking for someone to write with, maybe rock an open mic with,
someone to sing off-genre covers riffed off of my improv drum kits, someone to sit with at
bonfire sing-a-longs with all our friends and something to hum to myself
on the way home while you’re curled up in the passenger seat
and you can’t even snore out of tune

I’m talking toe-tapping tunes that will get us hired for your baby sister’s Sadie Hawkins:
Let’s see those little shits try to grind when you’re in the middle of a face-melting uke solo,
I’ll crowd surf out to our merch table while you challenge the glee club to a rap battle
then we’ll meet back up to play three encores and run away into the night,
leaving the chaperones to wonder who spiked their punch bowl with Pop Rocks

so if any of that sounds like your jam, come in on the next refrain,
show my broken fingers how to dance across chords the way yours do-
I came good on indie folk meandering, wore my soles bluesing and shoegaze
(it’s a lot harder to trip up on my words that way),
but there is a time in every man’s life when he must learn how to dance

from there, the plan is that we write your new favorite song
and then make the rest up as we go along:
no innuendo, just the buildup to diminuendo falling like a second sleepy sunset,
your head resting on my chest and
you’re scat singing in sync with the syncopation of my heartbeat

Let’s make your neighbors pound on the door at two in the morning because
they can’t hear the music anymore
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