I called her today around 3:00
Said “hey baby how about hanging in the park,
Watching those crazy star-wars freaks choke each other
With their invisible hands and slash each other with plastic light sabers?”

She said, “ok.”

So I went to her house
in my white hippie van made for making love.
Singing Sweeney songs, the sweet sound of sharp
Notes filled the spine of Harold Bloom with a literary pain in the ass.

She said “hey,”

When I knocked on the door.
With my black “cool cat” beret on my head
I looked like the owner of my “books on wheels” hippie van,
As well as Mike Myers from “So I married an Axe Murderer”, only better looking.

She kissed me.

I kissed her back
and threw her in Wisp the magic van,
driving down Park Avenue like Batman chasing a lead.
Except I am a safe driver, only leaning to kiss her on the yellow lights.

She just laughed.

We got to the park
And no one was there but us, the freaks
Must have left the premises when they saw the White Streak
Of Love coming from afar; screaming out passion and fire as it squealed it's wheels.

She said, “sweet.”

Not one to mince words,
I kissed her like New Years Day after two Jacks
And a Strawberry Daiquiri with a slice of lemon and a splash
Of sex. It shuts her up for a moment; she talks enough to chew the ear off an elephant.

She said, “wow”.