Room Service

Oatmeal with blueberries, fresh off the vine. The wrongest metaphor is pearls before swine.

A stick of cinnamon in black coffee I see. Can I lick the raspberry jam off of your cheek?

Tell me you miss me pretty please, and that someday you won’t cut me off at the knees.

I’m miles away in a cold dark room, sending you food ’cause it’s all I can do.

I’ll see you again someday I’m quite sure. And I promise our breakfast won’t be so pure.

-1/6/2011 (to be sung in a voice and rhythm of Bob Dylan)

So this poem/song/Dylan-inspired riff rolled off my tongue today. Here it is unedited.

Yes, it’s for you.

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