Perect Pitch


United States
38° 44' 52.1592" N, 76° 59' 55.9212" W

I literally can’t get enough of you. Not necessarily talking about the touch of you but that’s only cause I never experienced it. I’m sure that’s addicting too but I speaking of how my ears go lovesick from you and how my voice only harmonizes to you and my fingers only play along side yours on any piano key singing until we’re hoarse. You wear me out. My head gets tired of keeping your rhythm with a steady nod and my lips grow weak from following along to every note that you speak and my eyes lay heavy as your melodic instrument keeps a lullaby beat on the drive home you base through my speakers and I drive barefoot only to feel the trembling of your tenor through my toes and who knows what you laced in tracks cause I’m fixated with each lyric so much so it’s a fact that your learned to sling rap like crack cause just like that you want me inhaling your lines. You inspire me. Sounds Like First love all over again and I check yes on your paper thin CD inquiry asking me to date you. Sounds Like springtime in dead winter your warmth is easy to remember your unknown physicality I’ll surrender to as long as you sing to me the countless tunes that flood my bloodstream cuz your heartbeat runs through me rhythmically. Like a movie I can’t look away and I’m talking at the screen telling you to come my way cause I’m love drunk off your words your lines were laced with wine and I often time took communion in the sanctity of radio waves pressing play is an innate response your voice calls to me never faulters me yet coaxes my spirit with ease with mouth open wide you aim to please and I regularly find joy in your tempoed caress ballot after ballot its like musical sex each song brings a more heightened pleasure swinging my hips in my seat encouraging your endeavors to satisfy my crave. In person your timid but bumping through microphone, your brave. In person, you hug me casually but in my car your hands know no etiquette they dance between my thighs they play massage therapist to my mind and work their way through my soul. You hold me. Never thought I’d enjoy salaam on replay repeat downbeat upbeat beats me how you manage to sing to my core. Can’t seem to find any other song that’s more memorable than you. Can’t seem to hum any words that weren’t transcribed by you. Mesmerized by your originality you put creativity to shame…a rap over a tight beat brown sugar that’s your name cus you taste so sweet tongue to roof of mouth its insane how I’m captivated by your rifts and your perfect pitch and even if it ain’t perfect there’s nothing more on point than this…notes dance off your tongue and I’m their experienced partner clinging to their form dipping where they dip, shifting when they shift. I don’t want to lead, I’ll just follow as you waltz me across piano keys, two step with me on saxophone beats, twirl me with cymbal vibrations, convince me with each drumming persuasion that you are the master of music and I am your slave. Whip me into submission so that I know no other father, lover or friend. Music I depend on your will Brown sugar so sweet you make magic seem real and I just want to be a part of the process. So I put on your CD maximum volume all eyes on me as I breathe you in, and you move through me lyric to ear I hear everything you don’t say in that way I keep your secrets. You confess the truth. With this fan you’re safe, and if you use your music to escape, which I’m hoping you do, I listen to it only to find you.

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