dear roman payne

[I’ll be] the smile on your lips, the beat that forces skips, pleasurable pain you cannot quench.
Muse alive within your pen, wild spirit in your head,  sparkling height of all your tales,
your damsel in distress,
character you must pen.

I’ll be the one who won’t house-break you, try to domesticate or change you.
Of all your mistresses I am convinced   i’ll    be   the   only  [cinnamon] kiss   you’ll   ever   miss.

[So then] be my drunken Scott Fitzgerald, I’ll be your jealous Zelda,
try me on; you might not mind my lips of champagne sass,  red-cayenne-stained pleasure.

[Simply put] I’ll be your arms, if you’ll guide me with your head,
give me half a heart; i’ll forget any pain on which i dwelt.
Twirl me on a table  (it’s  midnight in paris)—
We’ll create a Woody Allen movie starring just us two, listen to Leonard Cohen over Mimosa’s every morning.

you’ll be the pocket for my hand, the button hole in which i slip and easily land.

“It would be too easy if I could just buy you.  You are a clever girl.  I am going to steal you.”

you intolerable, untamable fool— come then. steal me. lock me up, throw away re al ity.  i’m leaving my door unlocked. Fly across the world, get me.

your Cocolette,
she is ready.