ima write you a poem,
about how you put me on sweet tea.
a country girl to the core but raised with northern tendencies.
no exquisite taste,
never been one thirsty for the finer things,
simplicity'll do just fine for me.
gimme a book to read & a nice big oak with some shade.
let me rub yo feet under the tree after I pour you a glass of lemonade
sing to you as we lay in the grass under the stars,
all these pleasantries mixed with my fascination with your southern drawl.
clinging to your every word,
then cringing with nervous excitement as you whisper in my ear.
throw me over your shoulder while you run through the cornfield and hold me high in the sky once we reach the end of the lakes pier.
and you'll kiss me while the frogs, and crickets, and fireflies, make up all the noises, giving us the only light,
as the darkness enveloping us
makes me forget about the city's night skies.
got me wanting to name my babies after you, as I sway back and forth to the rhythm of your voice and the waters silent song cries.
but then the moon'll come out and you'll hold me close as I look up into your searching eyes.
and I'll giggle as I start sinking into the mud looking down on our exposed toes,
"where are my shoes!?" I yell, after I steal a kiss on your cheek and run back towards the house.
you'll catch up with me, scoop me up and we'll fall right back under the oak tree. and I'll lay in your arms and tell you this poem about how you put me on sweet tea
