On My First Very Adult Conversation (3/17)

You're an artist, babe.
Your words a rippling stream,
My body,
Babbling, bubbling,
A character in this glorious fantasy.
You're a salesman, babe,
Like Harold Hill;
I want to buy your outfit
And march in your band,
Like a boy who's been told for the first time ever that he can sing.
And I can sing.
You're a wizard, babe,
Because for the first time ever
The girl who has absolutely no idea
Realizes she has something to offer,
And it's so fucking hot.
But spells wear off too, babe,
And we can't.
No, we shouldn't,
Because I wasn't shopping for an outfit,
And singing's overrated when you're out of tune.
But you're still an artist, babe,
And I hope you find your muse,
And I hope she gives you
Everything you're looking for.