The thing about it is
I wish that I could tame that hit of dopamine,
that pitter-patter stew of adrenaline-norepinephrine in my brain
because it makes me kinda sappy and it makes me kinda lame.
I really feel ya, ya know? You really make me feel something,
And I know you know you do,
But, damn, I can’t get these words out:
No doubt your presence obliterates the wire between my thoughts and my mouth
And I’m sort of sorry because I want to get to know the real you
But these sensations make up an entire zoo of emus charging
And I’m sort of sorry, but, in the beginning, I never can seem to out-canoe these fiends,
Not that emus canoe, but you know what I mean.
This body of mine is their safari and they are never, ever sorry.
Sometimes I end up sitting just there,
Upright, smile drawn like a little raggedy anne or andy
And instead of telling you who I am,
I’ll grill you into your chair with my utmost care,
curious fury just short of a telephoned questionnaire.