Promise, Every Two Days

January 2013

Late night, phone rings, must i answer?

at least it's not that last dancer,

never come after, none come before,

on top is Massa, the bottomless pit of snores,


hasn't effected our conversations, still laugh,

send picks, Brett Favred then ask,

why is it not fair? what? the distance,

i'd run to you in an instant,


never say good riddance, just talk to you soon,

we speak every now and then, cycle of a moon,

keeps me loony and toony, not in ruins,

ever since you sent a pik of my stairs and i let you in,


i knew then that you were my lifes surprise,

from your perfect voice, to your perfect looks, back to your eyes,

not one centimeter is faulty, you're the angel that got away,

and God still searches for you to this day.

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