may i take a picture of you right now without further adonwhile you raise your foot up out your little black skirtnand you slap your tongue like parler posey in flirtnthis is not what i'm here for, this is not what i'm here fornthere's got to be a lot more, this is not what i'm here fornthe taste of sweet coffee when it's raining outsidenthe surprise of the sunrise when you just went out for a ridenafternoons in the library, peeping about all those poems that i saved that never printed outnthat lonely morning on the top of the hill by a lakeni sat and heard nothing but the soubd this lake madenthat evening i spent in brooklyn with some arty upper crustnsmoking, drinking and swearing like martin donovan in trustnthis is not what i'm here for, this is not what i'm here fornthere's got to be a lot more, this is not what i'm here fornmay i not help you untie and unzipnand just lie, feeling your hair on my hipnyour breasts hang so neatly as you bend overnand they brush so gently against each othernbut this is not what i'm here for, this is not what i'm here fornthere's got to be a lot more, this is not what i'm here for