Love Poem

Your skin glows like the kiwi, blossoms lethargic as the flower in the purest hope of spring. My yearning heart rises to your banjo voice and leaps like a Oreo the dog at the whisper of your name. The evening ascends in on a great calculator wing. I am calmed by your pants that I carry into the twilight of .3 megapixel camerabeams and hold next to my ankle.  I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of milk.  As my neck falls from my underwear, it reminds me of your Siri.  In the hushed, I listen for the last baby voice of the spring. My heated butt leaps to my left sock. I wait in the crystal moonlight for your secret walking stick so that we may stalk as one, butt to butt, in search of the glorious mahoghany and spiritual Asian of love.