I think I love her cause she gives life to me. Like a wife to me, or a knife, she fights for me—for us. For the imaginary children I’m not ready to make, but can’t wait to create. We artists, me and her. We’re artists who started as friends, but parted many times. Again, we came back to the canvas to begin painting our love. Two brush strokes… slowly stroking… slowly going in… How can I tell her I’m scared as hell? She found me too late. Too broken. I’m hoping, I’m hoping you’ll pick up the phone, cause I’ve written this poem too many times. Rhymes that only illustrate circles, that leave your head spinning, like you and your girls took one too many shots, and you can’t focus on anything but the moonlight and bedsheets who hold you, but don’t love you. They don’t love you like I do. I do, wanna thank you for all the life you gave me. It’s like you paid me. You fade me off my feet. I’ve always been stand up, but now I stand up for us. Team that. Team tomorrow and forever ever. No Andre but you Badu me. I ain’t dressing different, but everyone can see that voodoo, that you do, has me entranced, baby. Romanced, baby. Enhanced, baby. So I say your name when I’m praying, so God knows it’s real. Eternal love. Dante Inferno love. I-don’t-deserve-you-let-me-earn-you love. Look, pushes come to shoves but my love becomes doves that fly over your head like a halo. You my angel. So smooth. No angles. Yeah, we was tangled at first with no strings, but now my hotline blings every night, and there’s no distance between your voice and my ear. The only thing long is my love and this—shit. Got a little PG-13. I’m sorry, but you know when no one is around I say you’re name, so don’t be running games. I won’t give into the negativity of everything wrong with the world, because you’re everything right to me. Like a wife to me, or a knife, you fight for me. And we fight the distance.
