In the distance the
Corkscrew willow grows
Twists and winds it’s way
Down towards the soil floor
Rain on our tent sounds like
The vinyl reached the end
And the needle never picked up
On the turntable
Pickup like the one we drove
All the way out here
Pickup like the phone
When I called you for the first time
Pickup like the Indian food
We were craving the other night
Pickup like the beat of my heart
Every time I think of you
Pickup every time I think of you
Pickup every time I think of you
Pickup your shorts off of the floor
Pickup subliminal messages
At the door of the tent
We’re rolling around in with the rain
Coming down and the heat
Of the night and the memorable
Sounds of our bodies pressed tightly
Together as the pace begins to
Pickup between us
On the soft soil floor
Twisting up towards the willow
In the distance
© GÄ
Poétique 