The first time we met, you approached me An inaccurate preface to the starting With you asking me what I was reading And if I ever sought solace in lonely places like my room Ever since then, all I do is think about you Now this friendship has grown into a sad display Of what I would do candidly on tape To make you see that I could be The right person to turn you and I into we It seems quite frankly impossible That my writing would ever affect you Like the way you buried me under mountains of mud My finger brushes yours and my world is one inch by one inch by one inch My finger brushes yours and my world is one inch by one inch by one inch I write her poems, I recite them Like the man I am